Dead Aim Alchemist
by thebaehood
Summary: After the Promised Day, Edward Elric had two children to carry on the Elric legacy. His son Marcus took on an automail apprenticeship while his daughter Isabelle began to take lessons in alchemy. The children were able to carry on the Elric legacy, alright, but it came with a price. Equivalent exchange, simply.
1. Introduction

IMPORTANT NOTICE BEFORE YOU READ:

Hi! I'm Elena, nice to meet you, and this is not my first fanfiction. GASP! An experienced writer! Yes, I have been writing both professionally and for fun for over ten years now. Now that we have that out of the way, I am going to mention that this story is going to have a lot of graphic content, whether it be physically, verbally, mentally, or even sexually. If I write this story how I plan to, it's going to contain all four on an intense level. It's going to be a hard read during some chapters. Don't worry, I'll provide warnings before each chapter that would need one.

I had the idea for Dead Aim Alchemist when I was in the 7th grade after I finished watching FMA and FMA Brotherhood. I'm almost a senior in high school now, if that put things into perspective. I roleplayed this out with some of my closest friends, Bradley and Marie-Éve (amazing people, by the way), to see what would and wouldn't work. This, thankfully, made me revise this story a lot so I now have a basic grip on this story.

I was going to write this on my first channel, since I already had the prologue that I had written in 8th grade. Sadly, I forgot the password, and so I have to start fresh with a new account and a new version of the story. I don't mind, as my old writing was atrocious, I probably would have deleted it anyway.

Anyway, there will be two characters in here that I did not create, as they are from a roleplay from me and my old friend, Lacey, whom I don't talk to anymore. However, I did mention to her I planned on writing this fanfiction with her characters and mine, and she said it was fine. (I actually told her this was going to be a published story, and I never promised credit. But, I hate not giving credit to people that deserve it. I think it's wrong, even if they didn't do all that much to deserve it.) These characters are Drake and Taq.

FAIR WARNING FOR LACEY: if you're reading this, don't worry. I didn't change their backstories, but I am changing a lot of things that happened to Isabelle, which will, in turn, change her relationships with these characters and how they interact with her. Taq will basically be the William of this story, with changes, of course, because I realized that having William wouldn't work for this story, and so now he's a character on the shelf until I find another use for him. Alright, you've been warned.

I appreciate constructive criticism and any/all comments and opinions about this story as it progresses. I will try to post regularly but it's not going to be easy, considering how busy I am. I won't promise the best quality (however, I will try), but I will promise that I won't abandon this work until it's done.

Thank you to all who decide to read this, and I can't wait to get started soon!

-Elena


	2. Chapter One: The Sticks in the Sun

WARNINGS FOR: Swearing, mentions of death, and violence. So, this is chapter one, and I'm also going to be trying to be somewhat historically parallel to the other side of the gate, as it is set in the 30s and 40s (The war against Father was in 1915, and I assumed it was some time since then when Edward decided to have children, so I made their birth years 1920 and 1925). I didn't even post any actual content yet, and somebody is already following my story, so thank you so much for your excitement! Remember, any and all thoughts on this would be greatly appreciated! Thank you!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 **The Sticks in the Sun**

Isabelle Elric had died twice.

The first time, it was her brother who killed her. In his ignorance and love for his sister, he stabbed her neck with a needle and took her to her slaughter, even after he held her as she sobbed, begging him to let her keep her life. He said it was the best thing for her.

It was the September of 1947 when Marcus Elric had his sister killed under the knife. He didn't do it out of spite, or anything other reason of malice for that matter. He did it because he loved her so.

The second time she died was in March of 1991, her brother by her side. This time, he was his sister, crying by her side and begging her to stay alive. This time, her first life came back to kill her, for good this time.

It wasn't always like this. Their story wasn't always a life full of tears; the Elric family wasn't always consumed with bad luck. Their walls weren't always covered with horror and blood; their walls used to have windows. They were just children – two children born in a cursed family – who learned to play with the sticks in the sun.

They weren't always the Elric Tragedy.

* * *

"Marcus, what the _hell_ do you want? It's five in the morning!"

Marcus said nothing in return, but let out a soft growl through his teeth as he tugged at the blanket that covered his sister. This did nothing but aggravate Isabelle even more so; rolling in the duvet to wrap herself up, she enveloped herself in layers of blanket. The boy groaned and simply grabbed the tail end of the blankets and pulled, slowly oozing the covers and the younger girl off of the bed. She hissed.

"You little shit," he whispered Hat her, "It's a surprise! Come on before I get the bucket."

"You're full of it," Isabelle mumbled as she pushed herself back onto her bed, resting her head back on her pillow. She hasn't had the bucket in ages, and she knew her brother wouldn't do something so stupid. Only her parents were allowed to do that; because, well, they're her parents. Her eyelids were heavy and she felt herself grow light, the entire world around her turned off. She always was a heavy sleeper, even to the point to where her mother had once told her, "If there were a parade outside, you'd probably sleep through it." Isabelle didn't know this until later, but that's what Great-Granny Pinako would say to her father when he was her age.

It wasn't her fault she wasn't a morning person like her brother and Winry – those automail freaks – and she was a teenage girl, of all things, of course she enjoyed her sleep. She would rather stay up all night rather than wake up early in the morning. Sunsets were always something she enjoyed, seeing the world grow progressively dark. It was like when a child would scribble over their pictures with black crayon; she often imagined a child in the sky, scribbling over the sky with the colours of the night. Isabelle enjoyed the darkness, even more so than the light. She could fall asleep under the stars so easily, so peacefully–

 _SiiissssSSSSHH!_

Her body suddenly went frigid cold. Isabelle's eyes snapped open as she sprung up onto her bed, shivering instantly. She looked to the left to see Marcus, holding an empty wooden bucket, _smirking_. She hated that smirk so much, that same shit-eating grin that he had whenever he won something, whether it be a bet or some strange game. She especially hated it when it came hand-in-hand with things like _this_.

"Oh, I'm going to kill you, boy!" Isabelle shouted at him and threw the now soaked covers off of her dripping body. She leapt off her bed, tackling Marcus to the ground, the bucket hitting the floor with a loud thud as the two wrestled for dominance. Quietness was the least of their problems, she just wanted to get one punch on that bastard's face.

"You brat!" He screamed back at her, pinning her hands to the floor as he practically laid on top of her to keep her from squirming, "I was trying to do something nice for you!"

"Because dumping ice water on me while I'm asleep is so generous!"

"You got me wet too!" One of her arms wriggled loose from his grasp and he repositioned himself to where he could hold her arms down tighter. But, he had left one crucial part of his body vulnerable. Isabelle's knee flung up, crushing itself between her brother's legs. Marcus cried out and rolled off of her, hands holding his crotch to try and protect them from anything else as he groaned in pain. "You little shit!"

For a moment, both of them were blinded by a bright light. Yellow was a colour she was familiar with, as it was the colour of their hair, but she never enjoyed it when it flashed before her eyes. She blinked a few times, her eyes slowly adjusting to the light, and she turned her head toward the doorway. Of all people to be the one to wake up first and see them, it had to have been their mother.

"What the hell is going on?" She asked, astounded at the image before her.

It might have been quite the sights for Winry that night. Waking up extremely early to her two children fighting and cursing at each other would never be a fun experience for a parent. But to make matters confusing, the first thing she sees is her younger daughter soaked to the bone and her older son curled in a foetal position on the floor covering his balls.

Immediately, the two siblings pointed at each other and screamed their wrongdoings at the top of their lungs at their mother at the exact same time. They began to shout overtop each other, fighting for audibility, slowly growing louder in volume when their mother had to scream at them to shut up before she would ground them both. It was then when their father came into the doorway to stand by his wife.

"Winry, keep it down," Edward yawned and looked at his children. "Now, starting with Isabelle, what happened?"

" _He,_ " She started as she stormed up to her parents, leaving behind a trail of water and flinging some onto the pair when she pointed at them, "Woke me up early for some damn reason and dumped the bucket on me when I didn't want to get up!"

The older man pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, "Marcus, is this true?"

"Yeah," the brother stated flatly as he pulled himself up, his legs shaking, "But she kneed me in the–"

"–Only because you pinned me down you asshole!" Isabelle snapped her head in his direction, her wet hair sticking to her face and spraying anybody with droplets of water that was within three metres of her.

"Isabelle, watch your mouth!" Winry shouted at her daughter. It wasn't uncommon for her children to get into fights, and she knew Isabelle wasn't above fighting dirty. "Marcus, why did you wake her up so early?"

"I wanted to surprise her," he grumbled, "But she's too egotistical to let anybody else do anything nice for her!"

 _Oh, that's it._

Isabelle lunged at her brother, pouncing on top of him and flailing her arms to try and hit him in the face one good time. She knew she was many things, but any synonym to egotistical was definitely insulting.

Their fights really weren't much, to be honest. They didn't want to hurt each other too badly, but enough that they know the other can withstand. The boy, however, didn't want to hurt his sister at all. She was so tiny and fragile, he was afraid he'd break her. That didn't stop her from making it so damn hard to ignore, though. It would mainly be Isabelle trying to do something physically painful while Marcus would just try to restrain her. Punches would be thrown, kicks would be launched, and there would be much, much yelling.

"I've got her!" Edward shouted, running after his daughter to pry her off her older brother as they rolled around, wrestling on the floor for a clear space to land a punch.

"I've got him!" Winry said in return as she ran after her son. The couple managed to split the younger pair for a moment, and in that moment, they took full advantage. There, Edward yanked Isabelle off of Marcus as Winry drug him by his arms to the other side of the room. The two children still fought against their parents, trying to rush to each other to continue the fight.

Isabelle's temper got to her again, so it seemed. Her yelling was so incoherent by this point, her thick accent coaxing her words to the point of being incomprehensible in every way. Marcus had this accent too, that Southern Resembool twang; but he never spoke as fast as his sister, so he was still understandable even at his worst. One thing both of the Elric Children hated, however, was the endless asking of this question: "How do you sound so different from your parents?"

They clearly didn't understand that surroundings affected a child's speech, especially since their parents hardly stayed in one place for longer than a year. The Elric Children, however, rarely left Resembool, so their accent was caked onto their tongues spit thick.

Unfortunately for the girl, her mouth was too fast for the sound to catch up. She had a problem of speaking too fast, especially during times like this. The last thing she was focusing on right now was speaking clearly, throwing any insult she could think of at her older brother as her father held her off the ground by her stomach and carried her away from the room.

Edward wasn't sure whether his daughter had just told him to "Put me down!" or that she just told him to "Go to hell!" Most likely, he assumed, it would be the former, or he at least hoped as such. Either way, he needed her to calm down.

Her body felt ice cold against his skin, but her adrenaline didn't tell her she had to be freezing. "Isabelle!" her father shouted at her, "Get it together!"

Isabelle never really was full of rage. She would get angry, sure, but she would get over it rather quickly. She'd scream, she'd pout, she'd do whatever she had to do to get it out of her system, but she never held a grudge. Her father sat her down on his bed and placed hands on either side of her face, moving her head up to look at him in the eyes, "You need to calm down."

She could faintly hear her mother giving Marcus a similar talk, but more along the lines of "you're the oldest, you're supposed to set the example" type BS that every parent tells their firstborn. In a way, she pitied him, her parents treated him like he was too old to do anything, but also too young to do anything.

Isabelle took a deep breath and sighed, "An eye for an eye, Papa."

Whenever she called him Papa, it never really sounded like she said "Pahpuh" like most children would pronounce it. It always sounded closer to the sound "Puhpah" – basically an inverse of what everybody else said.

"An eye for an eye doesn't do shit, Izzy," Edward told her. "It just makes the world go blind."

Her parents really weren't the fighting type. They've fought, sure, but they've always tried to avoid conflicts like that as much as they possibly can. It bothered her a little, being a pacifist, in her eyes, only makes somebody an easy target.

"It's just water," she shrugged, then she heard the sound of rushing water coming from the next room. The alchemists turned their heads toward the door, and Marcus came into the doorframe seconds after the rush of fluids. He was absolutely soaked, and Winry did not look happy in the least bit.

"He insisted that it was fair to do it to himself," she said simply as she walked to her husband's side. He wrapped an arm around her waist and held her close to his body as he looked at his oldest.

"Son," Edward eyed him carefully then he chuckled, not able to finish what he wanted to say. He turned his head toward his daughter, "What was it you said about an eye for an eye?"

"Why don't you both go dry each other up and clean up that mess you made?" Winry said with a stern, mother-like tone.

Isabelle stood and walked past her brother, "I'll take care of the floors and you take care of my bed." He didn't argue with her, just following her to the laundry room to grab some sheets and towels. Edward shut the door behind him, flopping his body onto their bed and chuckling.

"Why are you laughing at that?" Winry looked at him.

"That's how Al and I fought all the time," he responded as he reached over onto his nightstand and grabbed his pipe. He lit it and took a puff from it, smoke blowing from his mouth when he exhaled with a smirk, "Or did you forget that?"

"No, I didn't forget, you two would bicker over everything," She giggled, laying down next to him, "Once you two fought over who would get to marry me."

"And you know what, Winry?"

"What, Ed?"

He looked at her in the eyes, smiling, "I won."

Six days.

They had six days left to place the sticks in the sun.

* * *

So this was chapter one guys! Thank you so much for reading, and there will definitely be more in the near future. Any and all opinions are greatly appreciated, thank you so much!

-Elena


	3. Chapter Two: Sanction's Sanctuary

WARNINGS FOR: Swearing, violence

Of course, I remembered my password after I already started new. :P I deleted the old story, though, as it was poorly written. Also, I was debating on whether or not to share a playlist of songs for you guys to listen to while you read this. If you would like that, I'll share it next chapter! A special thanks to my sister Isabella for describing an asthma attack to me for this chapter. Thanks again so much for reading!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 **Sanction's Sanctuary**

The last thing Isabelle wanted to do was to stay at Resembool and take over the family orchard.

It was great and all, really, she absolutely loved apples more than the next guy, but she didn't want to feel like she was wasting her life away doing the same things as everybody else in the God forsaken town. She never liked the quiet, and she never liked doing things as mundane as picking apples off a tree. Especially having to peel them. That was the worst part.

As much as she loved her mother and spending time with her, she always hated peeling apples with her.

"Isabelle, make sure you twist off the stems before you peel, it'll make things easier for you."

"Yes, Mama."

She didn't mind the apples or the cooking or the picking, but peeling them was so tedious. Her mother was one of the biggest perfectionists that she ever knew, so if she cut too deep into the apple, she would get _the look._ The Look was not only simply terrifying, but it was always followed by an aggravated sigh and some comment about how she was wasting food.

Her parents seemed to enjoy this more than she did, and she was still strung along because she had no other choice but to obey them both.

It was also because Isabelle didn't have the guts to tell her parents about how she wanted to join the military.

Isabelle knew that her father would never approve of such things. She knew about her father being a State Alchemist by the age of twelve, and she knew the whole adventure as to why he did it, but he was still eager to join himself too. She never understood why he would be so adamantly against his daughter following the same path.

 _I mean, if Marcus can do it then why can't I?_

Yes, Marcus wanted to be in the military once, but not as a soldier. He wanted to be an automail engineer that worked for the military. He knew that's where the money was. However, his mother suggested Rush Valley would be a better opportunity for him. "And besides," she had said, "The military goes there too." So, working under Winry as an apprentice, he started to study and work until he could have what it takes to have his own brand of automail in a little store at Rush Valley.

Isabelle wasn't too keen on mechanical limbs like her strange brother was. Isabelle instead fell into a deep love for alchemy. Edward never was able to do alchemy after he fought in the Amestrian Civil War years before they were born, but he was still able to teach her whatever he can. Everything else she would read from books or learn from Alphonse and May, or "Uncle Alphonse and Aunt May" as her mother would tell her to call him, whenever he would visit.

She became rather skilled rather fast. After all, she was being taught by two of the world's greatest alchemists. She knew her skills in alchemy made her apt for the military, but she knew the idea would immediately be rejected if her family were to ever find out. She couldn't trust her parents enough to tell them her deepest desires in life, especially since her deepest desires were becoming a dog of the military to _fight_.

Now her brother, on the other hand: maybe?

They trusted each other with more information than they told to her parents already, but Isabelle wasn't so sure about telling Marcus about how she wanted to be a soldier. At least not yet anyway.

"Isabelle, is something bothering you?"

She turned her head to see Winry staring at her. She glanced down at her apple she was currently working on, and not a bit of it was peeled, if anything, the blade was about to peel the skin off her fingers, if anything.

"No, I just got lost in thought," Isabelle shook her head, starting to peel the apple from the top to the bottom.

"What were you thinking about?" Winry carefully removed the blade and apple from her daughter's grasp, setting it off to the side and looking back at her. "You looked troubled."

"I wasn't."

"Look at me in my face," She said, tapping her fingers on Isabelle's cheek to have her turn her head. She did. "What were you thinking about?"

"Marcus," She replied simply. It wasn't exactly a lie, nor was it exactly the truth either. It was one of those responses that would fit on the tongue of either a liar or an honest. It wasn't hot nor cold, but simply lukewarm. Isabelle would become quite good at saying those kind of responses in the future.

"What about Marcus?" Winry asked, it wasn't uncommon for her daughter to talk about her brother, but it wasn't exactly her favourite subject to talk about, either. One thing that always worried her about her daughter was how she could manage to be so bold and open, but also so reclusive. Scratch that, that wasn't what worried her. What worried the mother the most is how she was just like her father.

"He's going to leave soon, isn't he?" Isabelle said. "To Rush Valley?"

Now there is the subject Isabelle has thought of many times, so even if she wasn't thinking of this at that particular moment, she still thought of it frequently. A loophole lie, so to speak. This would have been a statement that would fit nicely on the tongue of a liar, but the honest would spew it from its mouth. Isabelle never liked to lie, but she knew she couldn't tell her mother what was really on her mind. Not yet.

"You're going to miss him, that's what you're thinking about?"

Isabelle nodded at that, and Winry's face softened. "Oh, Izzy," She murmured and pulled her body to hers, wrapping her arms around her daughter and hugging her close. "Don't worry, he'll still come to visit, and he'll still call us."

"I know."

* * *

That night, Marcus woke her up early again. What the hell was up with him? This is the second time this week.

"What do you want now?" Isabelle asked, her voice groggy and her eyes still closed.

"It's a surprise for the love of God," Marcus shook her again, this time she blinked her eyes open and looked at him. "Don't make me repeat the Bucket Incident again."

"Asshole," she scoffed, "You would be in so much trouble. And why can't you just take me to see it during the day? You know, when I'm awake." She held this fire in her eyes, but it was a gentle flame. It wasn't a roaring ring of fire like her father had; it was instead a small flicker, the same you'd see when you'd light a match, the same that Alphonse had. Even while she was exhausted, the blue flame resided in her iris.

"Because I don't think Mom and Dad would approve of it."

This sparked her attention and she sat up. Her brother was never the rebellious type, it was her job to openly rebel. His job was to be a good kid and be the one rebelling from the inside if he wanted to. He set the example, she destroyed it. Simple as that.

But neither of them were stupid enough to disobey their parents. Or at least, let them find out.

"What is it?" Isabelle asked him.

"You'll have to come with me to find out. You might want to put some appropriate clothes and shoes on, if that's the case." He was already prepared, wearing a light hoodie and tactical boots. Where would they be going if he was wearing that? "Make sure your hair is out of your face, too." His hair wasn't long like hers and her parents', but it wasn't necessarily short either. It was shaggy enough to tie look like a bunny tail when he'd tie it back, which would only be when he's working on automail. He had it tied.

She pushed her blankets off of her and shooed him to leave so she could change. _What does he want to show me?_ Isabelle opened her drawers and put on a black tank top and black pants that went down to the middle of her calf. There was a faint knock at her door, "Are you done yet?"

"Almost, I just need my jacket and my shoes," She responded quietly, braiding her hair and tying it.

Marcus walked in, holding up her shoes that she had left in the mudroom from her visit to their orchard. She only wore them when she knew she was going to get physical and/or covered in dirt. "Here," he said as she put on her blue jacket, "These would be a better pair for you to wear."

As Isabelle put them on her feet and laced them up, she told him, "What I want to know is how you found this."

"You see, Izzy," he said, "While you stay up late, go to bed late, and wake up late, I stay up early, go to bed early, and wake up early."

"So you sneak out while we're all asleep, is basically what you're saying?"

"If you want to put it that way."

This was a new side of Marcus that she has never seen before. It was foreign, at least it was to her. This made her wonder if any of his friends knew about this side of him. Of course Thomas would know. Thomas was another apprentice that Winry had, most of the time working right next to Marcus, and the two became very close.

"Let's go, or we won't have much time," he gestured to her window, which was ground level with the rest of the house. The front door creaked a lot, and it would definitely wake up their parents if they were to leave that way. Isabelle's window, however, would definitely be a quieter route.

Marcus crawled out first, then his sister followed suit, and then the siblings began to walk, the girl following his side. "It'll take a minute or so before we get there, but when we do, you're going to love it. I'm sure of it."

Isabelle wasn't sure what he was talking about, but she already loved it. Whenever somebody would go out of their way to think about another, it was something that always touched her, especially when she was the recipient. As much as she wanted to enjoy it, she couldn't just yet. There was something within her, something eating her alive.

The reveal.

She couldn't take it anymore. Somebody had to know, and she trusted her brother more than she could trust anybody else. She had to act now before she changed her mind.

"Marcus," she spoke softly as they walked, and he looked at her.

"Hmm?"

"I want to tell you something, but you have to promise to keep it a secret," She was shaking a little by this point, her knees felt weak, her arms felt heavy.

He nodded, "Of course."

"I want to be a State Alchemist."

Marcus stopped abruptly, followed by a sudden collision where Isabelle didn't stop soon enough, crashing into him. She took a few steps backwards and he turned around to face her. "You want to what?"

"I want to join the military," She swallowed hard. Already, she knew she had made a mistake, but it was too late to turn back now, "I want to be a State Alchemist."

He stared at her, his eyes wide and his mouth open just slightly in a state of shock and fear. It's not like he was afraid of her, oh no, he was afraid for her. "Isabelle, you know Mom and Dad won't let you. Even if they miraculously give the okay, Alphonse wouldn't approve either. Hell, even if every person in the damned world would somehow say yes, General Mustang would never let you in."

 _Shit._

She forgot all about General Roy Mustang. She knew her parents would be hard to convince, but she might as well not even try with Roy. He and Edward were too tightly knit, and he was so much more stubborn than her father was, in some ways. When it came to her and Marcus's safety, everybody else seemed to place that at their top priority. And the military definitely wasn't the safest place for her.

"When I'm of age, I'll be able to without anybody's permission," she was already close to being the age of parental/guardian consent, which was fourteen. But if she wanted to get in without needing somebody to say yes, she had to be eighteen.

"He could still reject your application," Marcus said. "Or fail you on the exam."

 _Shit!_

Isabelle knew right then all of her chances were destroyed. Any hope of her becoming a State Alchemist was going to stay that way – just a dream. A dream lost in a sea of misguided hope and wonder and stranded on the island of unattainable desire.

"Think about it this way, Izzy," he placed a hand on her shoulder, "He's saving your life."

"I'm more than willing to die!" she blurted out suddenly. Right then she knew she had taken it too far. Marcus gave her this look, a look that she would never forget for the rest of her life. Disappointment, fear, shock, anguish…

He stopped trying right then, and he turned back around. Looking forward, he changed the subject, "Come on, Isabelle. You're going to love this."

She felt a pang in her heart, but said nothing as she followed him down the road.

They didn't say anything to each other for a while as Marcus lead her further and further away from home, away from town altogether, but then they came upon some trees. The trees extended farther than she can see, and she could faintly hear the sound of water running down a stream. She remembered seeing this place before, back when she was barely old enough to walk around. Her father had quickly pulled her away from this area, saying it was dangerous.

"All of Resembool thinks it's haunted," Marcus said, chuckling as he stared at the open mouth of the woods before them. "They slapped a forbidden label on it because they were scared."

"You've been _here_?" Isabelle asked, astounded. She remembered this place now. She's heard many tales about it at school about how the dead walk the earth there during the night. "Is it really haunted like they say?"

"Pfft, no," Marcus laughed, "It's all bullshit."

"Then what's the fun in this place?" She asked, feeling bold, like she knew how to fight for herself (which she didn't). Even if there wasn't any ghosts or ghouls running amuck, she still enjoyed new sights and adventure. "Then why did they say it was dangerous when it's not haunted?"

"Maybe because they don't want people in here messing with the wildlife," he said, "There's animals in here."

"Really?" Isabelle's face beamed. She's seen cats and dogs before and she's always adored them. But any different species of animals were only found in photographs. She's always wanted to see one in person. "What kind?"

"Mainly mice, rabbits, raccoons, deer, squirrels, and foxes." She'd seen a rabbit once, at the orchard. She begged Winry to keep it, but they had to turn her down because they weren't sure of what illnesses it carried. On the other hand she'd seen mice and squirrels plenty of times, but even then, it felt different knowing it was in the wild.

"Damn," she mused to herself simply, staring into the heart of the woods. She could almost hear it calling her name.

"What are you waiting for? Let's go," Marcus started to walk in when Isabelle grabbed his arm worriedly. "Say, you're not actually _scared_ , are you? I came here last night and everything was perfectly fine, I even set up a trail for us to follow, so we won't get lost. Come on, Izzy."

She swallowed hard and followed behind him, walking close to him in case if she heard something she didn't comprehend. She took in everything around her as they walked along the trail, the moon and stars illuminating the darkness to where she could see this new world clearly.

She could stay here for days.

The two heard a twig snap, and their heads jerked to the side, Isabelle quickly grasping onto her brother's arm, tensing. She sighed at what they saw – just a simple female deer that had bent down to eat. The doe perched its head upwards at the two siblings, its ears pointed to the sky. She was in awe, letting go of her brother as Marcus whispered to her, "Hey, make sure you're very slow."

"Why?"

"They don't like bright lights or fast movements," He said simply, and slowly started to inch his way toward the doe, his arm extended to pet her.

"Marcus! It could have rabies!" Isabelle whispered in a high voice, a part of her wanted to pet it, but another part of her was too scared.

"That's squirrels, stupid," he laughed as he come close to the animal and gently placed his hand on her back to stroke. He had a cheeky grin on his face and turned his head to Isabelle as he pet the doe. He extended an arm to her, "Come here, it's really soft."

Her longings overrode her fear and she slowly walked toward her brother. How could something so beautiful be forbidden? She couldn't understand that much. Marcus gently took her hand and guided it to the doe. Nothing in her life could ever compare to this moment. As her fingers grazed across the pelt, she suddenly understood why. Something like this shouldn't be tampered with by humans; they'd just destroy it. It should be observed, watched carefully and appreciated from afar and admired over there.

In the moment, Isabelle never realized how significant this night of her life would be when she got older. She never realized how much she would learn to love the quiet, to love the apples and her stupid Resembool accent.

In the moment, there was peace, there was comfort. It was warm, clouded with the night sky and pure serenity.

Marcus took a few steps to the side, stepping on a twig in the process and breaking it with a loud snap. In fear, the doe quickly pranced away from the siblings. "Sorry about that," he said to his sister. Isabelle didn't mind, she enjoyed the moment for what it was. It was home. "What the hell was that?" He asked suddenly.

"What the hell was what?" Isabelle's smile faded as she turned to face her brother, who was now glancing around the woods.

"It sounded like a dog barking," he took a few steps here and there, walking around her and looking around like a man on a mission.

"Are there dogs here?"

"Of course not, stupid," he sighed. He turned his body to the northeast and started to walk in that direction. "It sounded like it came from over here–"

It all happened so fast that Isabelle couldn't remember what came first. All she remembers is her scream as her brother tumbled down the side of the hill. She didn't even see that there was a drop. She rushed to the edge of the decline and looked down to see her brother shakily pushing himself up to his hands and knees.

"Are you okay?" Marcus asked, looking up at his sister.

 _Good job, Marcus. You fall down and ask your sister if she's the one that's okay,_ he thought to himself as he stood up.

"No!" She yelled down at him, "You scared the shit out of me!"

He laughed, then saw her freeze. Her jaw dropped as her eyes widened in fear. "What is it?" He asked her. She wouldn't respond as she trembled. This worried him; following her eyes, he turned to see what Isabelle was looking at and he gasped out loud.

Before him lied a mangled body, torn in various ways as its dead arm still held tightly onto a pistol. It looked like it had been eaten alive. Marcus recognized the body – it was Thomas's father, Kirkland. Kirkland ran a livestock farm that mainly housed sheep, and it looked as though he died before he could even cry wolf. Beyond his body was a black wolf, its bared, bloody teeth and eyes piercing through the darkness. Marcus glanced back at the pistol, if he acted quick, he could kill it. But if he missed one beat, he would be the next body.

The wolf barked at them both, like it was trying to communicate. "Marcus!" Isabelle cried out to her brother, grabbing a stick as she edged closer to the decline. "Get out of there!"

The wolf barked at her louder, then looked back at Marcus, whimpering. At the time, the two were too afraid to realize how strange it was acting. At the time, they only thought of each other's safety. Marcus quickly swooped down and to the hand that held the pistol, managing to pry its fingers from the gun and managing to shoot at the wolf in time just as it pounced. The bullet pierced its stomach and it tumbled over, then it pushed itself back up, growling.

Isabelle by this point managed to slide down the decline and drew a circle into the ground with the stick she carried. The wolf lunged back at the siblings as she placed her hands on the circle, screaming. The ground rose as a barrier between the animal and the wolf pounded into the barricade. Isabelle grabbed Marcus by the wrist and yanked him away from the scene, both of then running as fast as their legs could carry them out of the woods.

They didn't stop running after they made it out of the woods, either, they kept running beyond that point. The only thing they could hear was each other – their hearts racing, their breathing heavy and their feet trampling across the pavement as fast as they could.

That's when Isabelle felt it, a jab in her lungs. Her chest tightened and her legs gave out, resulting in her collapsing onto the ground, flat on her back. Her upper body felt heavy, and it felt like she was trying to breathe through a pillow. Wheezing with every breath, she only felt pain with every inhale and exhale. It felt like her lungs were cracking.

"Isabelle! Shit!" Marcus called out to her as he doubled back and scooped his sister into his arms. "Now is not a good time for this to happen!"

He glanced back, trying to think fast, then he stood up, Isabelle in his arms. Then he took off, carrying Isabelle as they ran toward home. "Here's another reason why you can't join the military," he said, "State Alchemists do a lot of running, even if you train your asthma, it could still–" He trailed off on his words, focusing more on keeping his breathing in check as he ran with his sister.

Isabelle's asthma was one that wasn't too serious, and it didn't show up a lot. Often in situations that involved light jogging for a short amount of time, she would be fine if she stayed hydrated. If she overworked herself, however, she wouldn't be able to breathe.

About a minute or so later, the two found themselves at the orchard behind their house. He sighed in relief, setting her on the ground, "Look, I'm going to run inside and grab your inhaler and I'll be back out for you as quick as I can. Try and control your breathing."

She nodded as he ran towards the house, and she shook with every breath. The last thing the two of them wanted was their parents to see them like this. It wouldn't be hard for Isabelle to lie where she was, but not necessarily the same could be same for Marcus. He was covered in dirt and scratches from the fall – plus, he sucked a lying.

Isabelle's breathing was rapid, possessing an irregular pattern depending on how much her diaphragm wanted to work with her. She looked over yonder, then she could faintly see a crack of light. It was a small sliver of orange beyond the apple trees, slowly expanding in diameter and height. The trees matched the colour of this sunrise – oranges and yellows – and the wind would make the branches dance. The leaves flicker upwards, painting the sky with the shades of every flame.

If she wasn't breathing through straw-sized airways, Isabelle would have sworn this would have been beautiful.

"Isabelle, open your mouth." She looked over at Marcus and did so. They counted to three, and he sprayed the medicine into her lungs as she inhaled. They counted again, and repeated the process twice more.

She laid her head against his chest as she watched the sunrise, her breathing slowly returning to normal. Her brother held her close and looked over at the sunrise, watching it with her, "I'm so sorry," he spoke quietly.

She shook her head, "You're alright. It wasn't your fault."

He scooped her up into his arms again, "Come on, let's go inside before Mom and Dad wake up."

Isabelle nodded, closing her eyes as he carried her into her room and gently placing her under the covers. Marcus gently kissed her temple and moved her hair from her face, "Oh, I almost forgot, Izzy?"

"Hmm?"

"Happy Birthday."

They have ten hours.

Ten hours left to put the sticks in the sun.

* * *

Phew, I say! That was a fun chapter to write, and I can't wait to write chapter three! Thank you guys again so much for reading this, expect more soon!

-Elena


	4. Chapter Three: Mother

WARNINGS FOR: Language, violence, some sexual themes

A HUGE thank you goes to Wraithkonto for reading and reviewing my story! NOTE: one hundred cenz is equivalent to one hundred yen. One hundred yen is worth one U.S. dollar, so keep this in mind as you read. Realistically, some of the books Isabelle was going to read wouldn't be canon as they are from "the other side of the gate" but you know what screw it I'm not _that_ creative. Again, any and all opinions are appreciated. Thank you so much for reading!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

 **Mother**

Isabelle had forgotten completely about her birthday – her mind caught up on the events of the hours prior. But she did realize one thing out of the whole birthday ordeal: she was fourteen – the age of parental consent for the military.

Oh, hell, there would be no way her parents would even think twice about it.

She knew she couldn't ask right away, it'd be a blatant "No," without ever being a chance of another question. She decided to wait it out – wait until everybody was in a positive mood and when the chance was right, she'd strike. The chances were small, but she'd be willing to take anything; even if she's not placed as a soldier immediately, even if she was something as mundane as a secretary, she would still have access to the library, and she would easily be able to rise above her station and work her way up to the top.

She hadn't fallen asleep since the incident hours before, but she did rest her eyes. She could faintly hear voices beyond the door, along with footsteps. She turned onto her side, then she heard her door open and then pressure on the side of her bed.

"Hey, Isabelle," came a familiar voice as she felt gentle shaking, "Happy Birthday."

She couldn't place her finger on the voice. It wasn't her father, nor her brother, and it most certainly wasn't her mother. The voice was deeper than the boys in her family, and she turned to face the figure that shook her from her rest.

When her eyes focused to the light, she saw a face she hadn't seen in much too long. The surprise launched her to consciousness as she shot up with a smile, "Alphonse!"

" _Uncle_ Alphonse!" Winry called from the other room. Her mother always insisted on formality when it regarded her children speaking to their elders. Her father, on the other hand, knew that he was family, and he didn't mind.

"Hey, Izzy," he chuckled as he wrapped his arms around her. She hadn't seen her uncle in what felt like forever, her heart feeling whole as he hugged her. He still smelled the same – Xingese parchment and a mint with an origin she couldn't remember. "How have you been?"

"I'm doing fine and dandy," she smiled as Alphonse stood up. "You came all this way for my birthday?"

"I've never missed being at a special occasion where I was invited," he shrugged, "I'm not going to start now, especially if it's for my favourite niece." He jokingly winked at her, and she rolled her eyes. She was his only niece. He stopped to look at her, his eyes widening a little in surprise, "You looked just like your father right then."

Isabelle sighed, "Alphonse…"

"Right, here," he reached into his pocket and tossed a coin at her. The girl had once told her uncle that if she had one hundred cenz for every time somebody had said that she looked like Edward, she'd soon have enough to buy the entire alchemy section in the Central library. He flipped another coin at her and said, "It is true though. You're looking more like Ed every day, while Marcus is starting to look more like Winry. It's like you two switched places from when you were children. There's only one thing stopping you."

"And what's that?"

The uncle simply tapped on the space of skin between his temple and the corner of his eye.

When Isabelle and Marcus were young, he looked like her father while she had a striking resemblance to her mother. As they got older and developing their own likings, however, that started to change as they morphed into their own appearance, both children having features of both parents. Sometimes, they even had some features of their uncle. Now, it's as though the parent genes decided to change their mind on the phenotype. Isabelle still had her mother's eyes. Marcus had his.

"Where's May?" Isabelle asked, her eyes curious and one eyebrow raised. It was a look that only she could have mastered. She almost did.

"May couldn't make it," he replied with disappointment in his tone. Her aunt May was always busy. She couldn't help it – she was the half-sister of the emperor, a princess of her own dynasty. She always had much to do when it came to her country, but she never forgot about her family. She'd still send presents and cards and they would write often back and forth, but Isabelle never thought it was the same as seeing her in person.

"Come on," Alphonse gestured his head toward her door as he put his hands in his pockets, "Your parents put together quite the surprise for you."

She smiled, kicking the duvet off of her body as she swung her legs off the bed and hopped onto the floor. She glanced at the clock, it was eleven in the morning.

Five hours.

As she exited her room, her uncle placed a hand on her back to guide her to the dining room. Presents were littered along the wall and the table was almost overflowing with a hearty breakfast. Muffins, mainly, as it was one of Isabelle's favourites, along with pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Her brother's birthday looked very similar to this on his fourteenth birthday. Some of his presents were even from people she thought only existed in her father's tales. She has yet to meet some of these people he dearly talked about.

The fourteenth birthday was an important one in Amestris, it was the age of consent. Consent for sex, drinking, joining the military, and in some cases, marriage. On the other side of the gate, this would have been the ages sixteen, eighteen, and even twenty-one.

"Happy birthday, Izzy!" Edward called out as she entered the dining room, his hands holding a plate he was starting to fill with food. It was probably hers, as she was the last one to wake up and everybody else already had their plates filled.

Isabelle smiled, "Thank you, Papa."

Whether she called her parents "mama and papa" or "mom and dad" all depended on the situation. She would normally call them the former when she was being casual or being told what to do; and also to retain her youth, as she knew it was quickly slipping. The latter, however, was when she would talk about them, or when things were formal or dangerous.

She would never have thought that one day those pair of words would sound unnatural.

"Come, eat," Winry said as her husband placed their daughter's plate of food in front of her seat. Isabelle sat at the end of the table, her parents sitting on one side while her brother and uncle sat across on the other side. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."

They ate their breakfast and talked, the older Elric brothers clicked in a way Isabelle and Marcus never did, and she didn't understand why until the day they finally clicked in that way. Isabelle threw a glance at her brother, the one thing they wanted to discuss couldn't be discussed in public. Especially in front of the family that cared more about their safety than their own lives.

The night at the woods was the last night of the first chapter of her life. The second chapter would come in just a few measly hours. And nobody knew.

It was just five hours! Five hours left to put the sticks in the sun, but where are the sticks? What would they use to stop the sun – plummeting to the earth to scorch them all – if they didn't have any sticks? How would they even know to look for sticks when they didn't even know about the sun's fate? Some would survive with burns, many would survive with heat stroke, and a few would burn to death: incinerated to ash.

* * *

"Isabelle, dear," Winry spoke up as she stood from the table, "Don't you think it's time to open presents?" By this point, the two children had resorted to talking on their own while the adults held their own conversation. Something about international affairs.

"Sure, Mama." Presents were always Isabelle's least favourite time of any occasion. She knew they were in the middle of an economic depression, and while she knew that her family was getting by, she knew that things weren't really by the cheap. As a result, she always felt bad when she received something she knew was expensive, or when she received anything for that matter. Hell, she even started to feel guilt when her uncle would give her one hundred cenz for saying she looked like her father.

Alphonse handed a black envelope to his sister-in-law, and she passed it to her daughter. The name "Isabelle N. Elric" was written neatly in gold on the back. She opened it up, pulling out the card inside. It was thick; there was money in it.

Guilt again.

Her predictions were right; when she opened the card, two thousand cenz floated out from the paper. The card had multiple signatures on the inside, signatures that she knew well. It looked as though everybody had pitched in some money, so that made her feel a little better that it all wasn't from one person.

"Go on," Marcus said. "Read it."

"'Dearest Isabelle, if we payed attention correctly, it's your fourteenth birthday. Happy Birthday! None of us could decide on a present for you, so take this money and get whatever you want. Best wishes, Team Mustang.'"

The signatures each possessed little messages to Isabelle personally with their own specialized way of telling her happy birthday. It was a cute gift, fitting for the team to send her.

Edward looked over at his brother as he lit his pipe, "So, Havoc, Breda, Falman, and Feury."

"Brother, what about Riza and Roy?" He asked, confused that they even referred to themselves as Team Mustang when Mustang wasn't even involved.

"You know those two sent their own gifts separately. They know Isabelle more than the rest do." He leaned back in his chair as he smoked his pipe. As he exhaled, smoke exited through his nose and mouth, "Isabelle, spend that wisely."

"Yes, Papa."

"Ed, put that out!" Winry shouted, "You're going to make it hard to breathe in here, especially after we light candles."

Her husband groaned as he took another puff, then exhaled as he put out the flame. His pipe wasn't his.

"Here," Marcus said as he passed a small wrapped box to his sister, "It's from Thomas."

She felt a pang in her heart, and she knew her brother felt too. With what they saw the night before, the last person she wanted to hear about was Thomas. As she ripped open the wrapping, she wondered what was happening in his household. She wondered if they noticed by this point. She wondered if they sent somebody to look for his father's corpse. She wondered if they knew.

A little message was taped onto a box that said, "You read too much for information, so why not read for entertainment?" She opened the box, and it was a couple books that Isabelle had always wanted to read. Inside the covers were personalized autographs from the authors. She looked through the books, hearing occasional noises of wonder and Alphonse at one point piping up how much he loved reading "Mary Poppins."

"Tell him my thanks when you see him again," she smiled as she looked at her brother. He nodded, giving her a look that responded to her with everything she needed to know.

Winry handed her another box, a card gently tied underneath the ribbon with her name on it. She recognized the handwriting too fast; she wanted to cry. She looked at her mother with pain in her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"This is Great Granny Pinako's handwriting."

The room fell to silence, an uncomfortable heaviness weighed on the family. Pinako had passed away a few months after Marcus turned fifteen. The parents knew she left a specific gift for Isabelle's fourteenth in her will, but this surprise hit the girl like a train. After a moment, the small Elric child began to open the card. She didn't read it out loud. She couldn't.

 _To my beautiful great granddaughter, Isabelle. I'm sorry that I couldn't make it to your special day, but know that I'm there in spirit. I love you, and I hope you're having a wonderful birthday, my dolly girl. Please continue to grow up into this remarkable young woman that I know you're going to be. With much love, Great Granny Pinako._

The gift itself was a frame, holding a picture of Isabelle and Marcus when they were about five and ten, sitting on the porch swing with Great Granny Pinako while she smoked on her pipe. The same pipe Edward now possessed. The frame was engraved with "Summer 1930," and Pinako's written signature with a drawn heart. And with this photo, she included a bottle of fine wine, whiskey, and a shot glass.

Isabelle had to take a break right then, pushing the present to the side and taking deep breaths. She felt tears stream from her eyes. It may have been four years, but it hurt like a motherfucker when she died. It still does.

"Oh, Isabelle," Alphonse said as he stood up and walked to his niece, pulling her close and holding her tightly. "She's in a better place."

She knew this, she wasn't stupid. Whatever this "better place" happened to be, she knew Pinako wasn't frail and in pain anymore, and that's all that mattered. She knew she couldn't cry again, not on a day she's supposed to be happy, and she was happy. But she was also sad. They were bittersweet tears – bittersweet, melancholy…

She pulled away from her uncle, wiping her eyes and taking a deep breath. She looked over at her mother, who also had tears in her eyes.

"Both of my girls are crying now," Edward sighed as he stood up. "Now, we can't have that, can we?"

"Dad, don't," Marcus began before his father cut him off. This wasn't the first time this has had to happen, and thankfully, it was never in public.

"Hey, Al," said the other Elric brother, "You're going to be me. I'll be General Mustang."

Everybody, by this point, knew exactly what was coming. Alphonse dropped to his knees and began to walk around on his kneecaps. Isabelle never really saw this for herself, but her father used to be really short when he was her age. Her mother giggled, remembering the things she used to say, the most prominent memory being that she wouldn't marry somebody shorter than her.

"Colonel," Alphonse said in a high, squeaky voice. Things were always exaggerated when trying to make somebody laugh. Why is that? Is it the sheer insanity of the situation, or was it the fact that it was so far-fetched to the actual events? Either way, the voice made her giggle. They always stopped at the laughter, and this was no exception. "That was quick, Izzy. Normally it'd take a little more to make you laugh."

"I guess it's the fact that I already knew the outcome," Isabelle replied, wiping any wetness left on her face.

The rest of the family sat back at the table in their seats, and Winry handed her another present. There was no card, but the ticket on the box said it was from Paninya and Garfiel. Isabelle had met them only once when they took a visit to Rush Valley for Marcus to see what the city was like. She didn't really speak to them much, but from what she saw of them, they were kind.

Isabelle opened the box and all she saw was white fabric. She pulled out the fabric by two straps, and it unfolded into a long dress with ribbons of different colours still in the box. The dress itself was a simple peasant dress with extra layers of glittered tulle sewn around the waist. The tulle flowed to the bottom of the dress, split in the middle in the front of the dress. The ribbons were meant to be a sash, any colour she wanted would be tied around the waist, adding that much character to her elegance.

"Well, you can certainly tell who got the idea to give that to her," Winry chuckled. Isabelle wasn't really a dress person, but it was nice to have a simple gown for formality. "It'll look beautiful on you, babydoll." She handed her daughter an even smaller box, smiling softly when she read out the name of the sender.

 _Scar._

This was the one person she never met, her brother never met him either. Yet, he still would send presents to them. In a way, it made her uneasy, knowing that somebody knew her more than she knew him. Her family said he was a good man, but she was never told that he killed her grandparents, nor that he tried to kill her father and uncle. That bit of her father's story must have hit the cutting room floor – she would find that out later.

She opened the box, seeing an array of colours and coarse fabric. She pulled it out by the edge, it was a handkerchief. There was a small post-it note, with a small message: 'Little alchemist, it is tradition in Ishval that a handkerchief is given to a young woman when she becomes an adult. Now, you may not be an adult legally, but knowing your family, you are an adult now. Best wishes, Scar.'

"What does he mean by that?" Isabelle asked after reading the message.

"You're mature," Marcus said simply. He didn't get a handkerchief on his fourteenth. He, instead, got the traditional gift for boys: a scarf. The colours were very similar to the ones he had on his scarf, and she figured it was also done in a traditional style.

Alphonse murmured something to her mother, and she couldn't make out what it was, but her father reacted. "Al, drop it."

"Well, all thoughts aside," Winry immediately started to change the subject of their conversation. "We still have a few more presents to get through." She handed Isabelle an unmarked present for her to open.

When opened, there was a letter to Isabelle that simply read: _Be prepared to use these, and hope you won't have to use it. He would want you to be safe. – Gracia and Elicia Hughes._

Behind the letter was a small, rolled up cloth, tied with a string. When she untied the string, the cloth unrolled to show about a couple dozen throwing knives. They were black and red, the handle looking like blood seeping through tar. One throwing knife stood out from the collection, and it clearly belonged on display. It was one that Hughes would use in his fights.

"Damn," Marcus mused, "Those are nice."

 _Hope you won't have to use it…_

She knew her brother was named after Elicia's father, Maes Hughes – Gracia's husband. Marcus Maes Elric, saving the "Hughes" part of his name for General Mustang. He knew he would use it on his son when he would finally have one of his own. Isabelle has yet to know the story behind this Nina girl that she was named after.

It was apparently Gracia that inspired her mother to start her own apple orchard, making pies and selling cider. Apple cinnamon muffins were a common breakfast item in the Elric household. She's met with Elicia more than Gracia, and during those times Isabelle had shown a particular interest in weapons – staring at the knives that hung in a case above their fireplace.

Winry paused, taking a deep breath, nodding to herself a little, as if she was encouraging herself. She reached over and handed her daughter another box while her husband rubbed her back. This box was about the same size as the previous one, but it was significantly lighter. The tag read that it was from the Armstrong family.

She's met both Oliver and Alex, both of them taking a liking for the girl (Oliver especially), which is apparently a good thing. She opened it, seeing a card containing two thousand cenz, written with two different sets of handwriting on it. Each wishing their own form of happy birthday and their own message. They specified who sent what gift, as well. Oliver sent the money herself, which made Isabelle feel especially guilty, and the products on the inside were from Alex, who assumed she would grow to be like his baby sister. She would grow to be like his older sister instead. There was various types of expensive make-up, which made her feel guilty again, even though she knew their family was wealthy. She didn't let it show on her face.

The next gift was from Izumi Curtis, and the card was from Sig, her husband. One section of the card Izumi wrote herself, and it simply read, ' _Don't be stupid like your father and uncle._ ' The rest of the card written by Sig, giving the girl a heartfelt happy birthday. The gift itself was a steel flask, with black leather wrapped around it, engraved with Isabelle's name. _The adults sure are excited about me being able to drink, huh?_

"This one is fragile," Alphonse said as he passed it to his niece, "Be careful with it. Ling and Lan-Fan specifically told me to make sure this arrives in perfect condition because of its fragility."

Carefully, Isabelle opened it, pulling out a porcelain doll that was personally crafted to look like her. It was wearing a black tank top and jeans with boots. It was carrying an "Introduction to Alchemy" book and its hair was pulled back into a ponytail, any leftover strands framing its face.

"It's beautiful," she gasped in wonder. She wasn't a doll person, either, but this was definitely something she was going to put on display on her nightstand.

"This one is from Roy and Riza," Ed said as he tossed a box at his daughter. The box jumped around in the air for a moment while Isabelle struggled to try and catch it until she finally did. "See, Al? I was right."

He nodded in response, watching his niece open the gift. There was of course, money – about four thousand cenz, which made her feel especially guilty. She knew the General was especially rich, but the depression… The box contained a diary with Isabelle's name etched into the cover.

Marcus handed a box over, "This one is from me."

"I told you don't get me anything."

"And I told you I don't give a shit."

"Marcus, watch your mouth," Edward leaned back in his seat even further, but this time, the chair gave out and he plummeted backwards onto the floor. Isabelle burst into a fit of laughter as her father screamed out, "Son of a bitch!"

"Ed…" Winry shook her head as she watched her husband roll around on the floor to push himself and the chair back up.

Isabelle opened the box, and inside was a small, brand new radio. She looked at him in shock, "Where did you get the money for this? This is incredible!" The radio was wood, shined and polished and still in mint condition in the box. It was the most beautiful radio she had ever seen.

"Drugs," he mumbled, "I sell hardcore drugs."

She examined the radio closely, the wood was stained, making it darker and its curves were smoothed out. Her eyes were wide with anticipation, he couldn't wait to get started with it. Then she ran over, hugging her brother tightly, "Thank you."

"Happy birthday, Izzy," he smiled in return.

"This one is from May," Alphonse said with a grunt, handing her a large, heavy bag and holding onto a box. The box must have been from him. She peeked into the bag to see stacks of books, ranging in size and density, but they were all related to one thing: alkahestry. "She wanted you to branch out from traditional alchemy, and she knew you showed an interest in this."

"Give her my thanks," Isabelle smiled, looking up at her uncle. He handed her the box he held. "From you?" He nodded.

"Hey, Ed," Alphonse peeked over at his brother while she opened the box, "My present is the best one."

"Okay, sure, Al," Edward chuckled, rolling his eyes, but the grin faded from his face when he saw his daughter's face light up in a way nobody had seen before.

Isabelle always wanted a camera.

She screamed in delight, bouncing up and down about the new camera she was given. It was small enough for her to carry it around in her hands, and it was state of the art. She looked into the box, and it came with many rolls of film for her to use. Edward glanced back over at his little brother, who was now smirking and said, "What was that, Brother? I was right?"

Edward turned his shock into pride, leaning back in his chair again, but this time, Winry shoved him back to where the chair was on all four legs. She handed her gift to her daughter with a soft smile, "It's not a camera, but I know you've wanted this for a while."

 _Oh Mama, that could be many things._

The box was an exceptionally small one, the bow bigger than the box itself. She carefully untied it and opened it, seeing a pendant held by a chain, a ring right behind it. The pendant was gorgeous – it was red, and it had black stencilling of a symbol on the front. The symbol she instantly recognized as the same one on the back of her father's red cloak. The ring was tourmaline, her birthstone.

"Mama, it's beautiful," she whispered in a hushed voice.

"It's a locket," she replied, "Open it."

It's a locket! Isabelle has expressed her desire for a locket as many times as she's said that she's wanted a camera. She opened the locket. On one side was a picture of Isabelle with her brother and parents, on the other was a picture of Isabelle with May and Alphonse. Both she considered to be perfect photos, as they contained nothing but pure joy. She wrapped the locket around her neck, clasping it to stay.

"Last one," Edward said as he walked to his daughter, handing her a thin and long box, "From me." He smiled at her as she peeled off the wrapping. "Just so you know, my present was better than Al's."

"Dad, good luck with that. He got her a camera." Marcus shook his head, crossing his legs to where his ankle wrested on the other kneecap. When the girl opened the box, all she saw was red fabric and buttons. She pulled it up by the collar and looked at it. There came a few gasps in the room. Marcus's eyes widened as he quietly said "nevermind."

It was a blood red jacket with black buttons. She thought it looked nice, yes, but she didn't understand how that could possibly be better. "Papa, it's really nice and all, but I still think the camera's better."

"No, stupid!" Marcus sat up straight, "Look at the back!"

She turned it around and saw the same design on the back of her jacket. She remembers the days her father caught her staring at his cloak, which was ripped to in multiple places and covered in dust and dirt. She said she wanted one of her own, and now she had one.

"I thought your jacket was starting to get too small for you," Edward smiled, "And besides, I think a jacket would look nicer on you than a cloak." He looked over at the younger Elric brother, "What was that, Al? I was right?"

"You know what, you win this time."

"Damn right I did!" Edward pulled a cheeky grin as his daughter hugged both her parents, giving them kisses. "Thank you, Mama. Thank you Papa. They're beautiful. I love you." They hugged her back tightly, telling her that they loved her too, and happy birthday.

She would discover that she would miss these hugs.

They had three hours.

* * *

Isabelle wouldn't stop taking pictures with her new camera, various people and items were captured onto a strip of film. Her favourite one would end up being one she took of her and the family on the couch – all laughing at something that Marcus said.

Speaking of the boy, he ended up leaving shortly after that photo was taken, telling his family that he was going to tell Thomas what his sister thought of the gift. He was gone for about a half an hour until Winry finally told her, "Izzy go get your brother. He's not skipping on this party."

"Yes, Mama."

As Isabelle left the house, the last thing she heard from her family was their discussion about politics. Thomas didn't live very far, about a five minute walk to the east, so it wasn't much time until she heard her brother and the other boy in his garage.

"–honestly think that she'd be okay with that?" It wasn't her brother's voice; it was Thomas's. The mention of a female made Isabelle stop with curiosity and listen, turning her camera to prepare for her surprise photo. Marcus, no matter the situation, was always somehow photogenic. Thomas, on the other hand, was awkward when it came to surprises. He was attractive, and photogenic when he planned his pose, but when he isn't ready, it's easy to discover funny faces and poses out of him.

"She trusted me with her secret, so I'll trust her with mine. I don't care if she's okay with it or not, I just need to get it off my chest. I can't hold it in anymore," Marcus replied, then his voice got serious. "Also, I have something to tell you…"

"Yeah?"

"So, you know those woods out west? The ones that are supposedly haunted?"

"Did you go in?"

"Yeah. With my sister."

There was a crash, as if he dropped things, and there was scuffling around, "Are you stupid? You could have gotten killed already, but you would have also gotten her killed!"

"We almost did."

There was a moment of silence, then there was noise of pain, like he let out a sob. "Please, don't ever do that again. Keep her safe. I know no matter what I say, you'll do what you want when it regards your own safety, but please keep her safety in mind."

"I know. I learned."

There was a pause, then there was noises she couldn't quite put her finger on. There was some rummaging, parts falling onto the floor and the sound of bodies hitting hard surfaces. She heard a moan, and the strange noises returned to her ears. Then, she jumped out, taking a picture and shouting "Boo!" while she giggled. She didn't see what was happening until after the flash. That's when she realized exactly what they were doing.

Both boys immediately yelped as they sprung away from each other. Thomas cupped his hand over his mouth, shaking on one side of the room, while Marcus pushed himself up to be able to stand on the other. Before she could apologize, Marcus pinned her against the wall, squeezing her shoulders so tight, it was painful. The camera crashed onto the floor, a piece of it breaking off the main body.

"What roll of film was that on?" He yelled at her, "You have to destroy it! Cut it out, rip it to shreds, burn it! I don't care, that picture can't see the light of day! Do you understand me?"

"Y-You're hurting me," she whimpered, trying to get him to loosen his grip, but he only tightened. She had never seen him so angry, but she had never thought it was possible to be angry and scared at the same time – and that's exactly what Marcus was. "Marcus, p-please! I won't tell anyone, I swear!"

"Do you?" He screamed, sending a wave of fear through her soul. She had to look away from him, her entire body was shaking, and she started to cry. She didn't know what the primary emotion was for the origin of her tears – was it fear or was it pain? Perhaps it was both, she wouldn't learn for sure the difference.

A hand was placed on the brother's shoulder, and both Elric children turned to look at the source, "Marcus, let her go." Thomas wasn't one to get angry or scared often, but the look in his eyes illustrated a fear Isabelle wouldn't learn about until much later. Marcus's eyes softened when he looked at his lover, then he looked back to his sister, still trembling, but making an effort to keep her crying at a low volume. That's when he realized the gravity of what he just did to her, and his entire demeanour shifted to guilt.

"Oh, Isabelle, I'm so sorry." He pulled her close and hugged her, holding her tightly, whispering apology after apology to her. Isabelle realized right then her crying was from fear – she had never seen her brother act such a way toward her. He was always gentle, like he was now as he held her.

"Isabelle, you have to promise us that you won't tell anybody about what you saw in here," Thomas said in a smooth voice as he bent over, picking up her broken camera and taking it to his workbench. He was oddly calm as he started to fix the camera, "And the film will get developed, but you'll have to make sure to burn the picture afterwards."

She nodded against her brother's chest, trying to sop up her tears, "I promise."

Marcus pulled from her and looked her in the eyes, "This is like the night in the woods. We will never speak of this again, okay? I'm so sorry, I'll pay you back for this somehow."

She nodded again, wiping her eyes as her brother stood up strait and looking at his partner, "Mom wanted you to come home," she said quietly. "You're going to miss cake."

He took a deep breath and nodded at her in return, then glanced back at Thomas, who, in a miracle, managed to fix the broken piece on the camera and returned it to its rightful owner. She mumbled a thanks. "He wanted to tell you about us, you know. It was just bad timing that you caught us just when he revealed it to me."

 _Bad timing, or good timing?_

Without seeing any point in hiding it in front of her anymore, Thomas leaned over and placed his lips on Marcus's, "I'll see you later."

"See you later."

Isabelle didn't know this at the time, but that kiss was illegal.

* * *

On their way home, the two didn't talk much. There'd be the occasional question about their relationship, and there'd be a response. When the house came to view, he began to talk with her about other things, and by the time they arrived at the building, both siblings had almost forgotten about what happened just moments ago. The sun was arched diagonally from the chimney.

Five minutes.

"Isabelle!" Winry called out from the door, "There you are! I was wondering what took you guys so long!"

"I dropped my camera and a chip of it fell out," She said with one of those truthful lies, showing her the spot, "Thomas fixed it for me."

"Did you tell him thank you?"

"Of course, Mama."

"Well, perfect timing, both of you," She smiled, opening the door, "The cake is ready."

The next couple minutes were a blur to Isabelle, all she truly remembers from this was being sat at the table, the cake being placed in front of her. She remembered her mother drawing the shade. She remembered her father lighting the candles, everybody seating. She remembered the happy birthdays. She remembered the song – that _damned_ song that will never stop haunting her. She remembered her wish. She remembered how in the moment she blew out the candles, their front door was kicked open.

Then the sun fell.

* * *

Phew! This one was long. This chapter I wanted to focus more on the characters and their development and interaction before I let shit hit the fan. This fanfiction is rather story driven, with some action and dialogue, similar to how the actual animes/manga were. Any and all opinions would be appreciated! I'll get working on the next chapter straight away! Thank you so much for reading!

-Elena


	5. Chapter Four: A Murder's Bullet

WARNINGS FOR: Major character death, language, violence

A friendly reminder that all opinions are appreciated! Thank you so much for reading!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

 **A Murder's Bullet**

It wasn't a fall. It was more of a collapse. Falling has its own form of sick grace to it, a quick, simple slip and a descent. A collapse starts as a tumble, growing in fearful pain and brute force; there's no grace to it at all – just destruction.

No, the sun did not fall. It _collapsed_.

Her memories were too vivid after that. Marcus immediately leapt in front of her as she let out a scream, wrapping his arm around her and then she immediately felt glass scrape against her skin. Isabelle hit the ground with a thud as her brother scrambled to his feet, pulling her up to hers. The men surrounding the family wore a dark brown uniform, a sash of yellow around their arms, with an insignia she didn't recognize. The insignia looked almost primal. They weren't from Central, or any branch of State Alchemist for that matter. Their guns were drawn at the family, Alphonse's hands were centimetres from each other, trembling.

"If you clap your hands, we'll kill you," one soldier said to them. He wore a yellow beret with the same insignia in the centre, "We don't want to do that. We have strict orders to bring you alive."

"From who?" Edward stared at them, his arm holding his wife behind him, his eyes peering into their souls.

"None of your concern. All we ask is your obedience, alchemists first, then the mechanics." He wandered over, pointing his gun at Alphonse's head, "Starting with you."

The alchemist shot a glance at his older brother, as if they were communicating. Isabelle looked at her own brother, she could almost hear what they were thinking. _Elric telepathy, I guess._ He then lowered his hands and outstretched them. Another soldier came with wooden handcuffs made specifically for alchemists, and they were latched around his wrists. Two soldiers grabbed either side of his arms, dragging him to the outside; she heard a car door open.

"Now you," beret said, aiming his gun at Edward. He glanced back at his two children, as if to tell her something, but he looked straight, outstretching his arms just like his brother. He was cuffed in the same way and escorted to the vehicle out back. As he was about to walk out the front door, he started to quietly sing a little song. She knew it at an instant, as she heard it multiple times throughout her life.

" _Somewhere beyond the gate, is a little bird flying free._

 _Sing little bird, sing little bird, let your wings guide me._ "

Isabelle didn't quite understand why he was singing that particular song, until she remembered when he'd sing it. He'd always sing it when he wanted her to relax. She couldn't do alchemy in stressful situations, her circles would always become jagged and her writing unclear. She remembered he sang this to her when he would send her to go retrieve things for him, he'd tell her how to behave. "Isabelle, you're a better actor than me," he would say.

He wanted her to–!

"And finally, you," beret said to her, pushing her brother aside. He had murder in his eyes, a hatred that she had never seen out of anybody. She planned her actions carefully, and she shakily nodded, taking a step toward the villain. She tripped herself, collapsing onto the floor, her eyes scanning the room. There was about two soldiers outside, two inside without guns drawn, two with pistols aimed at the family, and beret in her face.

 _Get the guns._

She etched her nail into the wood and quickly drew a small circle as she pushed herself to her hands and knees. As she pushed herself up, she placed her hand on the circle, and a light flared up, the wood from the floor knocking the firearms out of everybody's hands. Two beams also came from either side of the walls, crashing the two men together and knocking them unconscious, the weapons rolling across the floor.

"Get the guns!" Isabelle shouted, reaching over and grabbing a fallen pistol from the ground.

"Give me that, you don't know how to use a gun!" Marcus shouted as he snatched the handgun from her grasp. He aimed the piece at the two without any weapons, shutting the door as the men threw their arms in the air.

She looked over at her mother, who by this point had a kitchen knife to defend herself. Winry looked at her daughter, a look of fear in her eyes was one of the most frightening things Isabelle had ever seen.

"Marcus! Isabelle! Both of you get out of here and save yourselves!" she cried out at them. She wanted to disobey her mother, but she wanted to obey her as well. She felt a hand on her calf and looked down, just as beret yanked her down onto the floor. Her back smacked against the wood as he hopped to his feet, aiming his gun at her face.

Winry rushed at him and pushed his hand away from her, pinning him against the wall, "Save yourselves!" Isabelle had enough time to push herself up and watch the next events unfold. There was a bang, there was a ringing in her ears, and then there was blood. It was so much blood, all from the skull, some streaks of blood smacking against her cheek. Winry's head rocked backwards and she collapsed to her knees, her eyes still wide open and a scream lodged in her throat. The worst outcome had just unfolded, and Isabelle had a front row seat.

She remembered that click that her father and uncle had when they spoke to each other, the one she couldn't place her finger on. Now, something snapped in her and her own brother – the same click sparked in both Elric children. The spark ignited too hot too fast, growing in such an intense fire that even the sun had to be set away on a scale of cold flames.

* * *

When Isabelle was a child, she had once gotten in a fight at school. She won, yes, but it was after the kid managed to punch her in the stomach. The wind was knocked from her lungs when he punched her, her diaphragm contracting in a way that lurched her airways to collapse on herself. The same breathlessness came back to her when she watched her mother's murder.

Isabelle's face was stuck in the permanent scar of shock, her emotions had seemed to shut down, her surroundings set in slow motion. It was if her brain had to slow down to process the events that unfolded before her. In the corner of her eye, she saw Marcus screaming, firing the pistol at the murderer. One shot hit his throat and he slid down the wall, leaving a trail of blood on the paint. He fired again, the burst of light from the barrel flashing over and over as he repeated shooting the corpse. Then came clicking, then the boy dropped to his knees, still pulling the trigger, killing the already dead man again and again in his mind. The others were gone, except one, and he aimed his own gun behind her brother's head.

 _Don't fucking touch him!_

She wasn't going to let her brother suffer the same fate as her mother. She charged the other man, pushing his arm with a snap, a bullet lodging itself in Marcus's shoulder. Both cried out, her brother for the shoulder and the other for his broken arm. She heard a car engine ignite, and her head snapped toward the source.

Isabelle pushed the pawn to the floor and kicked his head, then rushed out the door as fast as she could just as the car began to drive away.

"Alphonse! Papa!" she cried out, chasing the car as the distance between her and the vehicle increased. From the passenger window, a man peeked out, aiming his rifle at her and firing. The vehicle passed a bump as he pulled the trigger, throwing off his aim and the bullet pierced her leg. She screamed and tumbled onto the road, her mouth filling with dirt and her skin scraping against the rocks.

She pushed her head up, her last sight was the insignia on the back of the van, until it all faded to black, a sudden pain on the front of her skull.

* * *

"Riza, do you know if the Elrics are out of town? I've been trying to call them for the past four days to tell Isabelle happy birthday and I haven't gotten a response."

General Roy Mustang hung up the telephone, worry coating his eyes. He'd called twice a day for the first day, then four times for the second, then he started to call every hour. Each time, it rang and rang until it couldn't anymore. The panic was setting in him, showing on the wrinkles by his temples and adding one more strand of white hair.

He and Riza weren't old, oh no, but they sure felt it. They were middle-aged, really, but it wasn't helping when about 75% of the military had settled down and had families with children that were adults by this point. Isabelle was the youngest out of all of them, and she just turned fourteen.

"I wasn't informed of it," she thought for a moment as she glanced out the window at the evening sky. "Have you tried calling other places they've visited?"

"I have," he folded his hands and rested his chin on them, staring at the telephone. He knew Edward wouldn't just ignore him, and he knew he would typically say when the family would be going out of Resembool, especially around events like this.

"What do you think we should do, sir?" She asked him, brushing her hair behind her ear. It had grown out a little, but she kept it cut at a length just below her chin, pinned out of her face, and curled in waves, as that was the popular style.

A cocktail of dread and restlessness was burning in the pit of his abdomen, his dark eyes hardened at the rotary. He began to feel sick at the possibilities racing in his mind.

 _What if they were…?_

He stood up from his chair instantly at that thought, "Pack what you need, Lieutenant, we're going to Resembool."

The mixture in his stomach began to swirl around and around and around and around…

* * *

It was dawn of the fifth morning when the train finally arrived at Resembool. The sun was starting to peek beyond the trees, a light orange tracing the air and shades of yellow-brown mixed with the blue in the sky.

"Sir," Riza spoke up as the two left the train station, "Do you believe that the Elrics were–?"

"Stop," Roy responded simply. He didn't want to think about it. The Elrics and the General were close to each other, and he be devastated if anything were to have happened to them. "We need to hurry."

There was a little building on the hill – the school – and then ten kilometres down was the commercial centre – the stores and other buildings vital to a town – then the houses began at another five kilometres away, and they were a distance apart. In between all of that was all farmland and cattle country.

It took some walking to find a farmer that was willing to drive them to the Elric residence, but after that they were able to make it to the house in a small amount of time. They thanked the farmer for the help and he returned to his crops far away.

"Sir," Riza pointed to the shattered window, now with concern in her voice.

Roy didn't like the sight of it. As he walked to the front door, he could hear the silence echoing through the house. He pushed on the door, but it wouldn't budge. He heard something slide across the door and a thud on the floor, and now the door was able to crack open about five centimetres. He didn't like this. He didn't like this at all.

"Lieutenant," he said simply, looking over at his subordinate. She took out her pistol and nodded, scraping it along the edge of the window frame, breaking all glass out of the way. They would be more than willing to pay for it later.

Riza stepped over the windowpane and into the house, her gun drawn, Roy following close behind her. Then he heard her gasp. He never liked that sound, it was always followed by something horrible. It wasn't until he stepped into the house with her when he saw exactly what she was staring at.

Winry's lifeless eyes stared directly at the pair, both were in shock. Her blood had coagulated by this point, the stains on her skin turned black. There was body in front of the door of some man in a uniform and a beret, and there was nobody else.

"General…!" Riza began to say, but no words could come out, her hands over her mouth as she stared at the scene in shock.

 _Shit!_

"We need to find the others." Roy demanded, running upstairs toward Isabelle and Marcus's room while she began to look in the rooms downstairs for any signs were they might have gone. This mind was blurring, his pulse racing, and he started to feel nauseous again. There was nothing in their rooms that seemed out of the ordinary, and it didn't help anything at all.

"General, the back door is open!" Hawkeye called out from below. He rushed back down the stairs, seeing the door open, a small trail of blood and dirt leading out into the back roadways.

"Quickly, now!" He commanded as the both of them broke into a run, following the trail until it let out. But in the distance was another house with a small "+" painted in red on the sides.

He felt a form of relief, in the most sickening way. Rushing to the front door, they heard footsteps come from inside. The two stood on either side of the door, Riza with her gun ready and Roy putting on his gloves.

The door was easy to open, when they rushed inside, they saw another corpse, similar to Winry's, and then there was a moment. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, where everything was still; then there was the sound of running, a scream, and then a knife thrown, the blade grazing his skin.

Roy had enough time to look to the source before he saw a little girl holding a kitchen knife charging at him with crazed blue eyes and golden blonde hair.

* * *

And that's all for now folks! This one was hard to write, as I am not good at writing death scenes. NOTE: I don't have anything against Winry Rockbell, if anything I think she's a neat character, but it was either her or Alphonse so I decided to take her out instead because Isabelle is closer to her. Any and all opinions would be appreciated! I really want to thank you again so much for reading this! Expect more soon!

-Elena


	6. Chapter Five: Children with Fire Eyes

WARNINGS FOR: Language, (slight?) violence, mentions of death, and sex (I'm not joking there is going to be about a thousand words of actual smut)

Sooooo this would have been out much sooner if Microsoft Word didn't decide to corrupt my file just for the fun of it. So I had to rewrite the entire chapter and I can tell you right now I wanted to shoot somebody while writing it again. But anyways, it's here. Thanks again so much for reading, and please be sure to leave your opinions!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

 **The Children with the Fiery Eyes**

To put it bluntly, Isabelle was not having a good time at all.

After her mother's murder, it was like she had plummeted into this bloodlust frenzy; her craving for revenge practically drove her psychotic. Her thoughts were just as deranged as the rest of her appearance, even after she and Marcus had moved into the Mustang Estate, she still behaved as if there were a chip on the shoulder of a lunatic.

News about the Elric Family Tragedy quickly spread among Amestris like a pestilence. In a matter of weeks, the whole world knew about the kidnapping of the infamous Elric Brothers and the murder of Edward's wife.

" _Those poor children."_

Ah, yes. Those words were often recited. They were mumbled, they were shouted, they were sighed. Isabelle had quickly grown to hate this pity.

She learned a valuable lesson about the world. Regardless of all her teachings, of all her extensive studies in alchemy, this one fact alone plucked the girl's concept of reality straight out of her core and shook it around in her face. This revelation kept her up at night while the house breathed in sleep and exhaled agony, this fact would stroke her hair as it taunted in her ear, whispering very quietly so that only she would shudder at its words: equivalent exchange doesn't exist.

* * *

"Isabelle! Oh, please be alive. I can't lose you too. Isabelle!"

Isabelle's entire head felt groggy, from her innermost thoughts to the very outermost tips of her eyelashes. She could taste the hot and rocky dirt on her tongue, absorbing all the moisture from her mouth. Hotness. Dryness.

She coughed violently, hacking up the chunks of scorching sand and ragged pebbles from her mouth. Her throat felt coarse, as if somebody had run strips of sandpaper down the oesophagus and twisted itself around her voice box. She opened her eyes, but only one opened. Her other eye was stuck together by her eyelashes, as if they were glued.

"Holy shit, you're alive."

Isabelle looked in the direction of the voice, and found her brother holding her up by her arms, his grip tight around her elbow. Marcus's eyes were full of worry, his entire arm now coated with his blood. She felt pain and warmth on her calf and glanced down, her leg was also dripping with the blood from her gunshot.

 _How long have I been out…?_

Marcus carefully started to peel a substance that glued her eyelashes, allowing her to open her eye again. "Sleep in your eye," he said, flicking the gunk from his fingers. "The mucus got caught on your eyelashes and hardened."

She noticed the sun was setting and looked at her brother again, "How long have I been out?"

"Almost an hour, it looks like. I kept looking for you everywhere after you ran out and I couldn't find you, and so I thought they took you too. I was going to go to Doctor Zimmermann for my shoulder, but then I found you here on the road. What were you doing over here?" He sounded so relieved, holding her close to him, one arm felt colder than the other. "I thought you were dead."

Isabelle pushed herself up to her brother and hugged him tightly, like he would float away from her if she were to let go. He held her close in the same tightness, and she felt her eyes welling with tears until she felt blood on her hand. "Your shoulder," she shook him, starting to worry at the blood seeping through his makeshift gauze, "You need to see a doctor immediately."

"You first," Marcus grunted as he hoisted her up onto her feet as best as he could. "Your leg doesn't have anything to cover it, I'm surprised you're even still alive from all that blood loss."

That didn't stop her from feeling dizzy as she walked, the ground starting to twist beneath her, and she had to have help limping her way to Doctor Zimmermann's office. "Marcus, I'm so scared," she shivered as they approached the Doctor's house. The wind chimes on the front porch gently swayed, soothing her in a way that felt almost wrong.

"Don't worry, we're going to get this all figured out. I promise."

He knocked on the door to Doctor Zimmermann's house as he yelled, "Hey! We need help!"

Normally these words would take roughly three seconds to travel through the house before they heard rampant stomping throughout the building until the door opened. But they heard nothing. A sick feeling sprouted in the pit of his stomach and he opened the door, dozens of footsteps trailed along the floors.

"We need to find Doctor Zimmermann," Marcus said to Isabelle. She nodded and he gently let go of her while they split around to find the Doctor. Marcus started by going upstairs and checking the Doctor's bedroom to make sure he wasn't asleep, and before he could check the other rooms, he heard his sister scream.

"Isabelle!" He cried out as he ran down the stairs and saw her at a doorframe, her hands covering her mouth and shaking. "Holy shit, Izzy, you scared me to death. What're you looking at?" The boy walked to where Isabelle was standing and peeked inside.

To this day he couldn't remember exactly what happened to him, because he couldn't see much. But he did see the haze drifting out the door and a limp arm, and the blood. It was everywhere. It was along the floor, it was stuck to the arm, it was on the walls. Written in crimson, the blood sprawled along the wallpaper in a message that will follow the two until the day they die.

" _SAVE YOURSELVES."_

* * *

The Elric Children never quite got used to their life with the General. They did, however, become accustomed to the new daily routine within the Mustang Estate.

 _5 a.m.:_ The General would wake up to get ready for work at the military. It only took him about ten minutes to get dressed and cleaned up. The rest of the time he just spent thinking.

 _6 a.m.:_ Once he was finished, he'd wake the children – Marcus for his automail apprenticeship at the military, Isabelle for being home-schooled by a private tutor. At this point, the children would dress and clean themselves, then meet Roy in the dining room for breakfast. They'd eat whatever he made them, even though neither of them had the heart to tell him his food tasted terrible. It had to take an incident of Isabelle throwing up undercooked sausage for the General to buy a cookbook.

 _7 a.m.:_ After breakfast, the General would drive Marcus to the military headquarters, where he would then be taught different methods of automail to complete his apprenticeship. During that time, the General would finish his paperwork and would organise upcoming events in the military. Isabelle typically would have a half an hour until her tutor would arrive and catch her up on school.

 _2 p.m.:_ Isabelle and her tutor would take a break from their sessions, and this would typically be when they would have lunch together. Sometimes they ordered delivery foods, sometimes the tutor would cook, and if Isabelle was lucky, they would go out to eat at a restaurant.

 _4:05 p.m.:_ After the last round of lessons for that day, the tutor would leave, and this would normally would be when Isabelle would sneak out into the city. Where she would explore always varied, but she remembered to stay careful in avoiding areas to where she wasn't allowed or to where she would easily be caught. This typically gave her time to think to herself, letting her get lost in her own internal actions. Recently, she started going to the library, picking up books to read in her spare time, and then she would take them home and hide them under her mattress.

 _5 p.m.:_ Isabelle would always return to the Mustang Estate at this point, and here she was faced with options. She only had time to do one or two things at a time. She could make herself a snack, she could listen to her radio shows, she could read the books she brought back from the library, she could write in her diary, or she could study some alkahestry.

 _5:30 p.m.:_ Marcus would return home from his apprenticeship, his mentor would typically drive him home, or he would walk. They'd discuss things that happened to them that day, catching up on what they missed regarding each other. Marcus would make himself something small to eat as a snack, then the siblings would listen to the radio shows together in silence. After a show was over, he'd take her on walks through parks or he would take her to the woods surrounding the Mustang Estate and he'd teach her how to fight. They had this new power – the ability to speak to each other without words.

 _6:30 p.m.:_ The General would purposely dismiss Lieutenant Hawkeye early from her work station, sending her to the estate to look after the children some more in the least sexist way he could ask. She didn't mind, she enjoyed spending time with the Elric kids. She'd cook them dinner, which wasn't as bad as Mustangs, but it most certainly wasn't spectacular either. Her food was often bland and didn't have a flavour to it, so the kids learned that condiments and other seasonings could make or break a dish. Roy's was just terrible. She'd basically play a motherly role to the two, trying to fill in a gap that the children had in their hearts.

 _8 p.m.:_ The General would return home at this time, even though normally he and Riza would often stay at the headquarters late before the Elric Incident. After explaining to Führer Grumman the situation with the children, he allowed Roy to start leaving early without hesitation. He would normally eat whatever Riza had made, and he'd dismiss her from her responsibilities. She normally stayed with the three anyway, creating a small, makeshift family. They would do things to preoccupy themselves after this, typically with group conversations or games. Their bedtimes would always vary on their levels of exhaustion.

Isabelle had growing suspicions about Riza and the General, the way they behaved toward one another always struck her similarly to her parents. Hell, even her aunt and uncle behaved toward each other in a familiar fashion (except with like, seventy percent more romance). It wasn't until one night when Riza decided she'd stayed up to late and decided to stay with Roy at the Estate.

And she slept in his bed.

* * *

Isabelle had this special ability to tolerate pain, but this was something else.

They were running out of time, and the painkillers haven't kicked into her system yet. They couldn't give her anything to knock her unconscious, because he needed to be worked on next. Marcus had to strap her down to keep her from kicking him, giving her a stress ball in each hand to clench and a rod to bite on while he stitched her leg together.

He'd seen his mother stitch their clothing plenty of times, it couldn't be that much different, right? It was just skin and muscle instead of cloth, and much, much, more painful.

Isabelle screamed into the rod, the cry muffling as she clutched onto the stress balls to keep her from moving and tensing too much. It didn't stop her trying to wriggle free, though. She was in a lot of pain. She knew she was going to have to put her brother under the ether, no matter what he protested – she did not want him to feel this.

"Just hold on, Izzy, you can do this," he said in his calmest voice he could manage. That said a lot, as he was on the brink of losing his mind as he tried to pull her together. Thankfully, the bullet passed through her leg altogether, so that saved him the time from having to dig it out.

She wanted to scream at him and tell him that it _fucking hurt_ , but she knew better. She knew he was trying his damnedest to keep her alive and trying to fix her safely. For all they knew, she could have been dead.

"You're almost done," he said for the seventh time during the stitching. At this point, Isabelle didn't know if Marcus was serious or if he was saying it again to give her hope. Either way, she was oddly comforted by the phrase every time it was spoken.

This time, he was serious about it.

* * *

Marcus couldn't stop thinking about Thomas that day.

The way he'd smile halfway when Marcus would somehow make a fool of himself, the way his tongue would poke out when he'd twist screws into automail, the way he'd hum upbeat rhythms to himself softly when he'd design a metal limb, the way he just existed.

He had documented every single noise Thomas made in his brain, the soft exhales of breath during a kiss, the "mms" when the blonde would slide his hands up his thigh, the pants and moans with every thrust during the times they made love, the cries of pleasure and desperation in his voice as he'd call his name during climax.

All of it drove him mad.

Marcus couldn't help but wonder what Thomas must be thinking. They haven't spoken to each other in months. He couldn't help but imagine his partner showing up to their house to see the broken remains and the desolation, or finding Winry's name on a grave at the Resembool Cemetery. He couldn't help but worry about his safety, about the rumours that possibly spread to spike uneasiness.

 _What if he thinks I'm dead, too?_

First his father, then his mentor, then his lover. It would have been an awful domino effect, really.

Marcus couldn't take it anymore. He had to talk to him. If it was at least a phone call, it would satisfy him. But he knows what he has to do. It would break their hearts, but it was the safest option for both of them, one that they could both recover from with definite answers rather spending the rest of their lives in worry.

He would have to end the relationship.

Marcus thought for what felt like hours on end about how to contact his lover, but there was no secure way for him to do this alone without causing some form of issue. He then decided to turn to the one person he could trust the most. It was late in the night when he woke her from her sleep.

"Isabelle, I have to talk to you."

"What the hell is up with you waking me up at four in the morning?" She groaned and looked over at him, rubbing her head. "You takin' me on another one of those walks?"

"No, but I am gonna leave for about two days."

She looked at him oddly, her eyes focusing to meet his, "To where?"

"To Resembool," he said quietly.

Isabelle sprung straight upwards and grabbing him by his shoulders. He winced, and she moved one of her hands further down his arm so she wasn't gripping his wound. "There's no way in hell, there's no way in _hell_ –"

"I have to!" He shushed her, "I can't stand it anymore. I need closure. I need to tell Thomas what's happened, I need to spend one last night with him. I need to let him go."

She slowly released her grasp, her eyes softening. Something in her understood everything when he mentioned Thomas. There was a brief moment of silence before she decided to speak, "How do you have the money for it?"

"I get paid small wages at the apprenticeship, I have enough for a to-and-back trip."

"Why are you tellin' me this?" She looked at him seriously, her eyebrows turned upward in a look of discomfort.

"I don't want you to panic," he said the first sentence with the confidence, then the second with a mumble, "And I need you to lie on me."

"You know I'm not good at lying–"

Marcus trampled over her words, "Roy's going to ask where I am, and I need you to lie. Tell him you don't know. I'll face the consequences when I come back, but if you were to tell him where I am while I'm gone, he'll come after me. It's just a couple days, I promise." His voice was desperate, his entire body seemed helpless to his cause.

Isabelle looked at him carefully, breathing in carefully and returning with a deep exhale, "Alright."

That was all the boy needed to hear.

* * *

"Bite this," Isabelle said to her brother, giving him the same rod to bite down on for the pain he was about to feel. He nodded and did so, not caring if she had cleaned the rod or not (which she did). She started to strap him down to the operating table, being careful around his wound, but made it tight enough to restrain somebody as strong as Marcus. She placed two stress balls in each one of his hands, "This is really gonna hurt."

Her painkillers by this point have kicked into her system, and she knew it would take a minute before Marcus would feel his start to take effect. But she didn't plan on him feeling anything.

She finished fastening the straps as tight as she could and left to the sink, where she washed the surgical equipment she would need to help fix him. She opened a cabinet and searched for some form of anaesthetic. She preferred chloroform as it would knock him out faster, and it would keep him under the more he breathed the substance, but she couldn't find it. She did, however, find ether.

Close enough.

She ripped a part of her shirt off of her, rinsing it under the ether, and then rushed back to her brother, prying the rod from his mouth. He looked up at her in utter confusion. "Isabelle, wha–"

Before he could finish, Isabelle smothered him under the damp cloth, intoxicating him under the anaesthesia. She felt him try to thrash and writhe against her to get the cloth off of him, but she held a steady grip, and holy _fuck_ was she thankful for strapping him down. It took all her strength and extra precautions to prevent him from snapping her in half.

It took a few minutes longer than she hoped, but he finally submitted under, simply breathing in the fumes as he slept. She wiped her brow and stepped back, taking a deep breath and collecting the tools she would need to stitch him together. "I told you, this was really gonna hurt."

She wasn't talking about physically.

* * *

The next night when Marcus left Central, Isabelle had a nightmare. It wasn't her first, and it most certainly won't be her last, but it was one that stuck with her for a while. She awoke with a start, a sharp scream, her breathing heavy, and her bed… _wet?_

She brought her fingers down to the wetness and ran them across the damp sheets. She raised her fingers to her nose and inhaled softly, a powerful, foul aroma entered her nostrils.

 _Shit!_

Isabelle glanced at the clock, roughly two in the morning, and she knew she had to act quickly to avoid being caught. She didn't remember where the laundry room was nor where the spare sheets were stored, after all the manor was rather large.

She hopped off the bed and yanked the sheets and her blankets off the bed, quickly and quietly exiting her room. She remembered what rooms _weren't_ the laundry room, so that was a start. She knew she would have to clean these by hand and she'd have to hang them somewhere to dry, but the question was: where? She had to pick a room of the house Roy rarely visited. There was the library, which was more for aesthetic purposes, but there were no windows. She also thought that the guest room was a good idea, and remembered that Riza would visit on occasions. She decided to hang her clothes out to dry when everybody left and before her tutor would arrive.

She scurried down the hallways on her tiptoes, carefully peeking into rooms to determine which was the laundry room and a linen closet. She used her socks to not only soften the sound of her footsteps, but to help her slide effortlessly across the hard floor, allowing her to travel by barely lifting her feet.

When Isabelle found the laundry room, she filled the bucket with soapy water and dumped her sheets inside. She had seen her mother wash clothes many times before, so it shouldn't be hard for her to repeat it, right? She checked in the linen closet and found spare sheets and blankets, thankfully.

 _Alright,_ she thought to herself in a mental checklist. _Now to–_

She became suddenly blinded by a bright light. She turned toward the door to find the General standing by the frame, rubbing his eyes and yawning, "Isabelle, what are you doing?"

Quickly, she flung the new sheets behind her and stepped in front of the bucket in a piss-poor attempt to hide her mess. "Nothin', sir," she said. His eyes squinted at her, his five o'clock shadow settling around his skin and his hair dishevelled.

"Don't lie to me, young lady," Mustang crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, watching her carefully. "What's that you've got behind you?"

"Nothin', sir."

"Isabelle, you're probably one of the worst liars in the world," he sighed. He uncrossed his arms and made his way toward her with his arm outstretched to fetch what she was holding. In a panic, Isabelle took a stride backwards, forgetting the bucket behind her and stumbling in with the sheets, soaking her from the back of her kneecaps all the way to the strip of back behind her breasts. Her nightgown felt heavier in the back than in the front now.

"Damn it," Isabelle cursed under her breath as Roy took the fresh sheets from her hands and set them on the counter. He then took her by her hands and helped her stand back up.

"Are you okay?" He looked at her, receiving a nod in response. "Now, what were you doing with these sheets?"

This time, she stayed silent. She felt a wave of embarrassment flush across her cheeks, staining her face with a tint of red. The General waited for a response he never received, then he kneeled down to her height and gently took hold of her shoulders, his voice as smooth as honey. "Did you wet the bed?"

Shamefully, the blonde nodded.

He did not embarrass her, he did not reprimand her, and he most certainly did not give her any indication to make her feel any worse about herself. He instead simply nodded in return to the girl, giving her a warm smile as he guided her to the bathroom. There, he filled the tub with water set at a heat she was most comfortable with (which he had to admit, was almost as hot as his mild flames).

Isabelle watched as Roy set aside some left her a new nightgown and fresh towels on a radiator so they would be warm and toasty when she was done. He lit a few candles on the sink to let the room smell nice, like a newly baked apple pie that just came out of the oven. He looked over at her, "I'll take care of it, just relax, alright? Go on ahead and take a quick shower and then hop into the tub when you're done."

"I'm sorry," the little alchemist mumbled, feeling extremely guilty about the kindness.

"Don't be, it happens to everyone." The older man smiled softly to the child, then he left the room to her, where she did as she was told. She showered to clean herself, then she stepped into the hot bath to relax after it was all said and done.

His words replayed a few times in her ears, making her question what he had gone through in order to wet the bed once before too. In the bath, she closed her eyes, thinking of her brother. Thinking of her father, her uncle. Her mother.

She shook the thoughts from her mind, trying to concentrate on keeping it together. The General was already going through enough by being a general, but to take in two children that weren't his and practically take over in the father role was another thing. He was good to them, really. In a way, his parenting skills reminded her greatly of Edward's. Yet they always used to bicker.

There came a sudden knock at the door after a while as the water started to cool, "Izzy, you about finished?"

"Yeah, I'll get dressed."

Isabelle stepped out of the bathtub and dried herself, slipping into her new nightgown when she was finished and watched as the water rushed down the drain. She walked to the door and opened it to be greeted with Mustang yet again, but this time he looked stern, holding a book that she had gotten from the library. "Where did you get this?"

"Shit," she mused as she looked him in the eye. She had completely forgotten that she hid the books under her mattress. Oh, how could she be so stupid? She took a deep breath, "So you're not mad about the bed-wetting, but you're mad about the book?"

"I'm not mad about the book," he corrected her, giving it back to her. "I'm not mad at all. I'm upset, there's a difference. I'm upset that you left without asking. You could have just told me you wanted to go and I would have taken you or had somebody escort you."

"But I'm completely alone for an hour after my tutor leaves. Besides, I can fend for myself," she puffed her chest out like she had something to prove, but quickly rejected her actions when the General raised his eyebrow at her.

"You don't know how."

"Sure I do," they decided to walk down the hallways together to her room, "Marcus has been teachin' me."

"Oh really? When was this?" He eyed her carefully, and after hearing her explain her daily schedule of sparring after the radio show, he let out a soft hum. As Isabelle placed her book on her nightstand, the General peeked into Marcus's room, only to find his bed empty. "Marcus is gone!"

"What?" Isabelle shouted, trying to act as astounded as possible, but he quickly realised she knew something. He asked her where the boy went, and before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "Resembool," in a panic.

There was a moment of silence among the two, then he quickly fetched his overcoat and instructed her to do the same. Before he could leave her room, she grabbed him by the jacket, trying to prevent him from moving, "No! We can't go! He needed to say goodbye to someone, he needs to do this alone!"

"He's going to get himself _killed_!" The man shouted at her and yanked the fabric from her fingers. He strutted back toward the stairs to go the phone and call a cab but Isabelle grabbed the jacket again and yanked as hard as she could. This made him tumble backwards onto his bottom.

"He said he'd be back in a couple days! He promised! He never breaks his promises! Have some faith in the boy, he promised! He promised!" The blonde's words started to string together again, her accent making it hard to comprehend what she was trying to say again.

"Izzy, calm down, I'm going to bring him back." The General stood up and dusted himself off, stopping in his tracks when Isabelle screamed at him again, this time her words were very clear.

"If you leave, I'm leavin' too, but nobody will know where I'll go."

Mustang turned his head to face the child, watching as she held a confident stance, "I'll send somebody to hunt for you."

"They'll never find me."

"They'll be the most skilled huntsman I could afford."

"They'll be a waste of money."

"They'll find you."

"You'll find their corpse."

This made Roy's breath hitch in his throat, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at the Elric girl. Both of them knew she wasn't serious about her final statement, as her father and mother taught her better than that. She could never bring herself to do something so horrendous, but the fact she even considered the threat…

"Isabelle," his voice was low; surprised, even. He couldn't bring himself to finish what he was wanting to say.

"Trust me. Trust him."

There was a pause, a moment where the same thought passed through his eyes and travelled to hers. In a moment, that thought was gone, but they both thought it. He saw her eyes, he saw that damn fire in the blue that swirled around her pupils, and he couldn't help but remember. The General sighed, shaking his head, "Fine. I'll trust you."

He couldn't help but remember.

S _he's just like her father._

* * *

"Shit! This can't be happening, not now! Not now!"

Both the Elric children were in complete shock as they checked their wounds a few hours after stitching to replace bandages. Isabelle's seemed to be doing normally, but Marcus's grew a sickly yellow and brown colour within the tissue.

It was infected.

"But I stitched it perfectly! I did it like how you did it!" Isabelle was desperate, thinking of any possible way that might have caused the infection, but everything lead to it somehow being her own fault.

"It wasn't the stitching, Izzy," her brother sighed as he carefully started to tighten gauze around the infection. "I didn't clean it."

The girl was frantic, opening every cupboard in the small hospital room in hopes to find something, anything–! Nothing! One would think a doctor would have antibiotics, but alas, there was nothing. Nothing but a cold fate and a horrible silence.

The next couple days, Marcus became too weak to walk, talk, or even eat. Isabelle had to do whatever she could, but by the fourth day, the both of them were certain that Marcus was going to die.

It took all his strength to say a final goodbye to her, thinking that he was at the end of his life, hating the look on her face when she sobbed and shook with every breath. She just lost her mother, and now she was going to lose her brother too.

On the fourth day, a few hours after their goodbyes, there came footsteps on the hospital porch. Thinking it was somebody else to come after them and kill them, Isabelle fetched a knife and camped by the door, and when it opened, she attacked the first person who stepped inside.

It was the General and his Lieutenant.

These last few nights the Elric children could have sworn that the world had just ended, and that Marcus was about to die. Thanks to Roy and Riza, however, he didn't.

* * *

Marcus was never one to enjoy train rides. They always made him uncomfortable. But on the other hand, this one that took him back to Resembool – back _home_ – made him feel oddly satisfied.

It was about dawn when the train whistled him awake, signalling to him that he reached his destination. He took a small case with him, just enough for one night, and he slowly stepped off. He felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he began to walk down a long, winding road.

The road that lead to heartbreak.

There were no cars in Thomas's driveway, which meant that his mother was gone again. The boys never really did know where Mrs. Peletier would be, but she was always gone a sporadic moments of the day when her husband was off to work with the sheep. This left Thomas alone many times, which he would either spend in the garage or with Winry. Either way, Marcus would be there as often as he could.

They loved each other's company, no doubt about that. The countless discussions to pair had never seemed to be pointless. Every little titbit of information that strung along a vine of words hung in the back of their minds, and they'd never forget it.

The blond boy worked up the courage to step onto the front porch, gently knocking on the door of the Peletier residence. There was slow footsteps that creaked up to the door, and when it opened, he saw a young orange-haired man in the doorframe. It took a minute for their faces to register in each other's eyes, and not much had to be said.

But hell, they needed that hug.

Marcus felt Thomas shaking against him as they held each other tightly. There was a moment of silent bliss, when the boys could hear nothing except each other's breathing and Thomas could hear Marcus's steady heartbeat (since he was about a head shorter). Then the smaller looked up at the Elric with watery eyes, "I never thought I'd see you again."

The blonde just smiled softly in return, "Yeah, me neither." He took a deep breath, about to explain the situation, before the Peletier boy decided to talk over his lover.

"Isabelle wrote me a letter," he said, "She explained to me everything that happened. I'm so sorry."

The words hit Marcus like a punch to the chest. His sister did what? The look of confusion must have given his thoughts away, because Thomas mimicked his look and began to elaborate.

"She sent it to me a few months ago, shortly after you two left. She said she didn't think that you two were coming back. I-I thought you knew…"

"I didn't," said the Elric. It made him wonder, why the hell wouldn't she just tell him that she sent a letter explaining everything? But then he remembered his sister, who she was, what she was like, and realised exactly what she was thinking when she let him go. It was hard to explain, but seeing somebody to say goodbye has so much more meaning than cold writing on a paper.

The pair didn't know what to say to each other, but they did know what they felt. They felt a longing, a desperate hunger, a _need._

Marcus was the first to make his move, starting with a slow, small kiss on the redhead's lips. The other complied, kissing back with a more intense force, smashing his tongue into the other's mouth. He had to get lost to this boy one final time, forgetting all his troubles to melt to the other's touch. A stiffness tightened in his jeans, and the smaller boy reached his hand over.

"I'm sorry," Marcus breathed out.

"Don't," Thomas replied with a desperate gasp.

It was all hazy, a bell of lust and despair rang in their ears. The Peletier shoved his hands up the Elric's shirt, pulling it over his head. He ran his hands across his lover's skin, relishing in the smooth flesh as one hand stopped and the other tangled within the golden hair. Guiding him with his hair, the redhead pinned the blonde against the wall, grinding their hips together. Both were hard now, their minds blurring together and their heartbeats drumming in the same rhythm – fast, needy, hungry.

Thomas felt it, Marcus felt it; it had to happen.

One.

Last.

Time.

* * *

It was ten in the morning when Isabelle finally opened her eyes. It was odd – she hadn't slept-in in forever. She pushed herself out of bed and rubbed her eyelids, a yawn escaping her throat as she waddled down the stairs in her nightgown.

A fresh smell of meat entered her nostrils, and she couldn't help but feel her stomach rumble as she turned into the kitchen. What did surprise her was seeing the General reading a cookbook carefully as he prepared sausage and bacon with eggs.

"General," she questioned as she sat down at the dining table. "Aren't you supposed to be at the military headquarters?"

There was a half-wall that separated the kitchen from the dining room, which was quite handy for conversations during gatherings. Mustang glanced at the Elric girl from the half-wall as he cooked, grinning slightly, "I took the day off. I also cancelled your schooling today."

"Why?" Isabelle seemed shocked, his typical hard-working nature was always apparent in his mannerisms, but she had only see him slack off when he was at home, where he could relax. She never thought of him the type to take a break.

"I decided today that me and you were going to have some bonding time," he placed the food on two separate plates as he turned off the stove. He took the food and set the plates on opposite ends of the small square table – he didn't need much room for a table, anyway, the most people that regularly eat at his estate is four people. He poured two glasses of orange juice and put them by the plates of food, sitting across from his foster daughter.

"So what do you plan to do today for that, sir?" Isabelle had impeccable table manners when she was tense, and every time she ate with General Roy Mustang, one would think she was raised by a high class family. That is, until they heard her accent.

"You're so tense around me and Lieutenant Hawkeye, I want you to get comfortable with us. We're not bad guys," he told her as she took her first bite of the sausage, "How is it?"

"Good." This was her default answer, but her tone of voice would always give away her true thoughts on the food. This time, however, she meant it. It was the best breakfast he had made yet, and she thanked whatever god was out there that he bought a cookbook.

He smiled at her as he began to eat too, mentally noting how she was cautious of every bite, glancing at the door every so often. She had never let her guard down since the incident on her birthday, and she didn't think that she would do it again.

"Relax," Roy stretched his arm across the table and gently placed it on Isabelle's arm. It took her some time to realise this, but he was wearing his gloves. "I'm not going to let anything happen. You're safe here."

"I was safe at home, too." The words were surprisingly cold, and they cut through Mustang's head like a hot knife on butter. They both knew she didn't mean it to come out so heartless, but damn did the truth hurt.

"It was a surprise," the raven-haired man told the blonde. He let go of her arm and leaned back into his seat, "But, now we're all prepared for it if it were to happen again."

Isabelle took note of the "if" in his statement, but it didn't help her feel any better. She finished her plate of food and downed the rest of her juice down her oesophagus. She placed her hands in her lap, her fingers folded her palms together – she was still tense.

The General had a long way to go.

* * *

"F-fuck," Marcus moaned out, digging his nails into crescent moons on Thomas's back. He forced his fingers straight and stiff to keep from drawing more blood, and he raised his head to where his forehead rested against the other's shoulder.

Thomas was especially slow and careful when they made love this time, trying to draw out the moments to be as long as possible. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, relying on his other senses to consume him with every thrust. The Peletier made a mental list of these senses, remembering them until one day, he could find somebody that will give these senses back to him.

 _Sense of Touch_ : There was the obvious one – his member being clenched around the Elric's hot walls, slicked only with the petroleum jelly that he kept in a drawer in his nightstand – and that damn wonderful feeling every time his tip would scrape against Marcus's prostate, feeling the boy beneath him shudder and tremble against his touch. His hands felt along his lover, across his length and slowly stroking, his other hand holding the blond's to keep himself balanced when he would thrust into the taller boy under him. There was burning nail marks, drawing erotic pictures of lust and love along his back with every scratch, even to the point to where he believed he was bleeding in some areas. The Peletier's knees were cushioned by his mattress and the silky sheets, gently caressing his skin with every move. He felt wetness across his chest and neck where Marcus would trail his tongue, sucking gently on his collar bone, leaving kisses wherever his lips could reach. There was pressure on his shoulder, soon becoming a sharp pain when the blond started to bite. Thomas didn't mind the pain; after all, all he felt was pleasure.

It was heaven.

 _Sense of Smell:_ Damn, was it something else. The musky stench of sweat and sex fogged his nose, making it practically impossible to smell anything else. Thomas did occasionally take in a few traces of the incense he was burning, but it was quickly overpowered by the smell of Marcus's breath. He could smell himself, if that made sense, while he gently pounded into the other boy, the aroma that rose from his manhood as it would slide back and forth between the Elric's tight entrance. He could sometimes smell the outside world from his open window, taking in the occasional scent of grass and morning dew. He could still feel the odour from his small breakfast tickle his nose hairs, reminding him of what he ate just a few hours earlier, while the remnants of his food delayed themselves in the kitchen. There was no such thing as a foul scent as they made love.

It was heaven.

 _Sense of Taste:_ This may have been Thomas's favourite sense, in and out of intercourse. At this particular moment, he could still taste the toast and oranges he had for breakfast a few hours ago, creating a base on his tongue. The next coat was the small traces of mint from when he brushed his teeth, entangling itself with the leftovers. Two sets of saliva stuck to the roof of his mouth with every kiss, his own, and his lover's – his favourite taste, his favourite flavour of Marcus. He swallowed the musk and his own sweat, leaning down to his lover and running his tongue along the blond's skin for a new brand of wetness. Earlier during foreplay, he could taste the Elric's member; from the top to bottom, he consumed the length, savouring the feeling, the flavour. Skin had its own tang to it – mostly flavourless, but there was a hint of sweetness with every bite, and a pinch of metal with every drop of blood. The Peletier knew why Marcus was crying this time, he knew why they were having sex at this particular moment. He knew this would be the last interaction between the boys, and he knew he had to make it worth his while. He leaned down as he pushed himself inwards again, gently grabbing the Elric by his jaw and running his tongue along the cheeks, soaking up any tears onto his taste-buds. It tasted of the ocean – salty, wet, and warm.

It was heaven.

 _Sense of Sound:_ Thomas felt his ears ring with every vibration that echoed across the pathways to his eardrums. There were so many. There was Marcus, with his beautiful breathy gasps and his greedy moans of blissful agony; with his violent outburst of various swear words or commands, demanding him to go harder or that he needed more coated with desperation; with his muffled pillow screams of pleasure every time he was struck in the prostate. There was the outdoors, the birds that hummed just loud enough to blanket their own noises, the whirling wind that secured the coverage, and the overall song that the world made if they stood still long enough to listen. Then there was his bed, rocking with every powerful thrust and creaking along with the floor, reminding the boys who they belonged to. And finally, there was Thomas, with his own mewls of delight, his occasional grunt when they'd change position and angle, with his own voiced profanities, cracked with enough pain.

It was heaven.

 _Sense of Sight:_ Thomas couldn't control himself any longer, he had to watch once more, unable to peel his eyes off the striking visuals beneath him. He watched as his manhood slid in and out of Marcus's interior, glossy with lubricant and almost purple from being so hard. He locked his eyes on the Elric's length as it gently bobbed to and fro with every thrust, the very top corners of his vision were blocked by his fiery hair. The Peletier's eyes panned up to watch the blond's visage while they made love, watching his face twist and contort into various locked expressions of desperate bliss. The white sheets twisted around their bodies, painting a new form of art: each other. Hot damn was that boy beautiful in every sense of the way.

It was heaven.

"T-Thomas," Marcus moaned out, feeling a tightness in his core, "I'm c-close."

"I feel it, too," The other boy responded, and they just continued at a faster pace. A quicker, louder rhythm until finally all they could hear was white noise. They reached their climax together, and Thomas watched as he filled Marcus with his seed. For a moment, all they could do was just breath.

They've escaped time alright, lost in each other and melted into one puddle of fucks and moans. At times, they'd each forgotten their troubles and could only focus on each other. Just like old times, just…like…

Heaven.

* * *

Roy was always one to try new things, but raising another man's child was something he needed a manual for. Unfortunately, he couldn't find one anywhere on teenage prodigies with PTSD. He tried his best with Isabelle, really, trying to be a better father figure for her than he was to Edward.

He promised that much.

And yet, all his trying seemed to just go in one of her ears and out the other. She was always a thinker, but recently it seemed that all she could ever do is think to herself, documenting every miniscule detail in her brain.

She'd openly talk to him, sure, but she wasn't an open individual anymore. She used to be easily approachable, somebody that many would get along with, but now it seemed that someone would have to carve multiple layers of thought in order to get even close to where she was. But he had to keep going. He had to keep carving. He won't let this incident break her, he won't let it consume her.

It will not be her Ishval.

"Roy," Isabelle tugged against his shirt while they walked down the sidewalk to a small café. It's rare he hears her call him anything other than "General" or "sir," so it sparked his attention.

"Yes, Izzy?" Mustang looked down at the girl as she held his sleeve cautiously.

"There's somethin' I've been thinkin' about for a while, and I've talked to Marcus about it." She stared straightforward, her eyes fixed on everything ahead. It's always in front of the Elrics, it's never behind. It's never even a glance back.

"What is it?" His voice remained calm, and he smiled reassuringly to let her know that she could talk to him about anything. It was a big step, and it excited him, knowing she was finally opening up to him to tell him what her thoughts are. Even if they're something small, he'd happily listen.

"I want to be a State Alchemist."

* * *

MAN OH MAN was this hard! Thank you again so much for reading, and please remember that any and all opinions would be greatly appreciated!

-Elena


	7. Chapter Six: Testing An Alchemist

**WARNINGS FOR:** Language, violence, death

This is wonderful! I'm starting to see more and more feedback for this fanfiction, which is GREAT! Thank you to all who are reading and reviewing this story, and I'm really looking forward to writing more now because of it. Also, Another Jane Doe had requested me to share a link to the playlist I made for this fic, so here it is: user/twijill/playlist/70MBX7e4zYllQBe6kUQzxu. Now, this playlist is still a WIP, and it's not been organised in any particular order, as it's meant to be played on shuffle. But all the songs I put in the playlist were put in based on their lyrics or based on the tone of the song, so it won't be uncommon if you find music from other shows or games just because of how the lyrics or tone fit with the story. But enough with my rambling, I'll get to the story. Thank you all again so much for reading and reviewing! All opinions are greatly appreciated!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter Six**  
 **Testing an Alchemist**

Isabelle knew right then she had made a mistake. She had just told the General (of all people!) something she couldn't even tell her parents. What was she thinking? She'd have more luck having told her father instead of the man next to her. Well damn it all it was too late now, she had to stick with it, no turning back.

Never turn back.

Roy stopped in his tracks, turning to face the girl behind him and gave her a look she'll get used to seeing. "You want to _what_?" His voice was suddenly cold, his entire demeanour following suit. If she hadn't seen it once before, it would have frightened her. She'll get used to seeing that, too.

"I want to be a State Alchemist," Isabelle echoed. She expected him to yell at her, to call her out on her stupidity and recklessness, but he didn't. He simply responded with a "no," and left it at that. He nudged her forward as they continued to walk. A gust of wind cut through their chest. It was that time in early February when the cold would control the width of one's lungs, even when dressed in layer; which made breathing very inconvenient for the asthmatic. And yet, the Elric children haven't seen snow once – that was for North City.

"General, I wasn't asking you, I was telling you," she raised her voice, stopping him from walking as she tugged him again. She exhaled, creating white swirls of mist that floated to the skies. She wondered how Marcus must have been feeling in Resembool, where it was always warm, she wondered if the birds were singing again.

 _Sing little bird, sing little bird, let your wings guide me._

When she took another breath, the coldness caught in her lungs and she gasped. Her hand clenched into a fist on her chest as it felt heavy again. She felt around in her pockets for her inhaler when Roy grabbed her by the elbow, "We'll discuss this later."

Isabelle snatched her arm away from him. Fumbling with the medicine, she raised the mouthpiece to her lips and pressed the button, inhaling as she felt her airways open up.

"Let's go inside, the fresh air isn't doing you any good," Mustang guided her to the café he was taking her. Once inside, he unbuttoned his coat to help himself warm up from the heaters inside the building. A waitress met him up at the counter, her hair tied back and her face stuck in a permanent fixture of joy.

That must suck.

"Ah, Roy! It's a pleasure to see you again," she smiled at him cheerfully. Her dress was purple and ended at her kneecaps, her sleeves reaching all the way to her wrists. Her eyes locked with Isabelle and she looked back at Roy, "Is that the Isabelle you were telling us about a few weeks ago?"

He nodded, "I'd like to introduce her to Madame Christmas, if that's alright."

"Sure thing," the waitress gestured for the two to follow as she began to walk behind a counter that lead to the tables. Isabelle stayed quiet as they made their way past the families that were eating lunch at the various booths, and the waitress stopped once the two were standing in front of a bar at the very corner of the café. "I'll go get her, you two can sit here and wait until then."

The General sat first and waved his fingers at the Elric to have her sit down. She sat next to him, her hands on her lap while he leaned forward on the counter. "Who's Madame Christmas?" she asked him, looking in his direction.

"My aunt and foster mother," he gave her a look, reading that he'd answer all her questions later. "Be respectful to her. And put your elbows on the table."

That confused the girl and she raised one eyebrow at her. She'd started to master that facial expression. The café was littered with various other conversations from various different voices, and Isabelle began to feel like she was being watched. She grew tenser as she felt more and more eyes on her. "Putting my elbows on the table isn't respectful."

"Two different topics," he said. "I meant put your elbows on the table so you can rela–"

"Roy Boy!" a gruff voice came from the other side of the bar. Isabelle turned to see a rather large and elderly woman with a cigarette in her mouth. The woman looked over at the girl and grinned, "Is this little Izzy?"

"Sure is Madame," he glanced at the blonde. His eyes trailed to her elbows, then darted to the counter, his lips pinching together a little to give a stern impression.

"She looks like I'm going to chop her into tiny pieces and eat her up," Madame Christmas laughed and looked at the Elric daughter. "Don't be so tense dear, I don't bite."

Isabelle was never really well put together when it came to meeting new people. She had this anxious feeling that weighed on her entire body when it came to social skills with individuals she had never spoken to before. Nobody was really aware of her inability to be sociable, so she always came across as weird to whom she wasn't close to. She kept her mouth shut as she adjusted herself in her seat, swallowing hard.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, she's like this at home too," the General spoke up to try and give the child some time to collect herself. "How's the order coming along?"

"We haven't found anything."

This confused Isabelle once more, as he didn't order anything. She felt eyes on her coming from her right, as if somebody was glaring a hole through her. The alchemist slowly turned her head and saw another man in a hat staring right at her, his eyes narrow and focused on her, as if he was studying her every curve. She shifted uncomfortably. Voices around her became blurred and faded, her mouth dry as she could practically feel the man undress her with his eyes.

"So, Isabelle, I was wondering if you could help me and my girls out," Madame Christmas snapped her back to reality as the girl looked in the woman's direction. The Madame leaned in to the child closely, her voice suddenly low. She slid a paper across the table. "Roy here was telling me about the attack on your family a few months ago. I need you to tell me if this is the insignia you saw that night."

The Elric looked at the paper and saw another insignia she didn't recognise – it was a serpent eating its own tail. It was similar to the one she saw on the soldiers' armbands, but too different. She didn't know this at the time, but what she was looking at was the Ouroboros.

Isabelle shook her head, "No, ma'am. It's not. But the people that attacked us clearly took inspiration from this logo." She slid the paper back, and Madame Christmas shot her nephew a look.

"So it's not the Homunculi," the General mumbled to himself as he leaned back in the chair. The blonde glanced back where the man in the hat was, and he was still watching her; except this time, when their eyes met, he licked his lips. She swallowed hard. "What did it look like, then? Could you draw it?"

The girl nodded as she glanced back at the Flame Alchemist, his eyes narrowing as he peeked back and saw the man watching her. He looked at the smaller alchemist as if to ask her something, but decided otherwise. He mouthed to her in subtlety.

 _Don't go anywhere._

She nodded. He didn't have to tell her, she didn't plan on doing that anyway. Madame Christmas slid another paper and a pen across the counter. Isabelle picked up the pen in her left hand and started to sketch the insignia she saw that night. It was burned into her brain, scorched into her soul for the rest of her first life.

It had a similar premise of the Ouroboros. But not quite. The insignia itself was black on a white circle, and the badge was on tan cloth that wrapped around the arm. The blackness of the insignia was circular, imitating the flow of the Ouroboros, but that was about it. In the centre, there was a human. On the right side, there was wing that swirled to the left, and on the left side, there was a tail that swirled to the right. The wing and tail almost touched. This logo was sat on top of the alchemical symbol for creation.

She slid the paper to Roy, "It looked like that."

The General nodded as he looked at the paper, studying the insignia carefully before passing it to Madame Christmas. Isabelle glanced back at the man staring at her again, and this time she felt her blood turn cold. He rested his head on his laced hands.

And he had the insignia on his armband.

* * *

About a month after the General had taken in the two Elric children, Riza started to try and teach them how to shoot a gun. Marcus had already gotten the hang of it, since he had experience from incidents before.

He quickly stopped after his first shot, having a panic attack about the night of his mother's murder. He wouldn't stop shaking, blubbering about the life he had taken away when he shot the man in the beret. Roy had to take him inside the Estate, trying to calm him down to stop the flashbacks.

When she asked him about it later on that night, Marcus described it as somebody constantly kicking him in the chest while they screamed about their slaughter. He described how Mustang talked him through taking another man's life, teaching him methods to cope with the heavy burden.

She would soon have similar hallucinations. She would soon have a very similar talk – but the difference between her and her brother was simple: she would stop counting after she hit double digits. She would stop caring about the lives of those that didn't deserve it. If need be, she probably would have shot down the General if he tried to step in her way and stop her. The path of vengeance was a scary one, and the little alchemist walked down the road without a single flinch.

After the General came back outside, he just sat on the back porch and watched the girl learned every little nook and cranny of a pistol – all its features and functions to see what made it tick. Once Riza had deemed her fit for the opportunity, she pulled the blonde off to the side and tried to have her shoot a target in front of her. Isabelle missed every time she fired a bullet.

"Isabelle, you must be the worst shot in the world," the General sighed behind her in frustration.

"She just needs practice, sir," the Lieutenant responded to him, her voice almost scolding him like a child. She looked back at the little alchemist, "Here's some advice. Look him in the eye, and aim no higher. Summon all the courage you require, then count. You can count as long as you want, but you have to fire by the time you get to ten. Some cases, you won't even get to start counting, but this is just something to help you get started. Now try again."

These words would reside in the girl's head until the end of her first life, every time she fired a round, those words would chant themselves in her subconscious. These words hardwired themselves into her system, sending her afterthoughts into a shock if she ever even considered regretting pulling the trigger. She had summoned all her courage. She would eventually stop counting, but the numbers continued to tick. One through ten were all she bothered to remember from a certain point onward – until she got to seventy-one.

Seventy-one was an accident.

Seventy-one was a victim she could ever regret, and she didn't even mean to fire the bullet. Seventy-one was one of only two innocents she had killed.

Her first ten murders were all so different, and yet they all were so similar. The world would soon be reminded the power of an Elric – but she was not like her father. The times have changed, and the girl changed with it.

 _I'm sorry, Papa._

Her first ten meant nothing to the world, but they meant so much more to Isabelle. People have told her that her enemies define who she was, and she was a firm believer of this standpoint. Her enemies defined her, alright. The world would receive a grim reminder, a constant warning for caution; their blood was the world's token of her slaughters, a hanging whisper about the Elric Executioner.

 _She is not her father._

No, she is not her father. She's so much worse. She's a _threat._ She's a _bomb._ And somebody just set off her timer.

 _1._ Her first murder was of an assassin that attacked her and the General. _Male. 34 years old. Gunshot to the head_. She felt this sick release after she shot him, making her fire more bullets than necessary. The rush of adrenaline in her bloodstream after committing the slaughter was a sensation that she enjoyed more than she would be willing to admit.

 _2._ The second victim was a psychotic killer – and he made the mistake of targeting her brother. _Male. 26 years old. Multiple stabbings in the head and chest._ It was a damn near perfect balance of equivalent exchange when his scream rung in her ears: _A life for a life._

 _3._ Number Three was a State Alchemist that went rouge. _Female. 30 years old. Spear through the chest._ This one was a surprise to her, but when she took his life, she didn't feel any different than when she killed the previous two. It was in fact becoming easier for her to murder, especially if she knew they deserved it.

 _4._ Four was a mercy kill. _Female. Two years old. Lethal injection._ The poor soul didn't stand a chance, and it pained her to do it. Neither of them knew that it was going to be lethal, purely an accident. She felt sick after this one, even though she had the okay to do it, she still vomited after the deed was done. She could never bring herself to kill anybody else in a similar fashion again – she'd only be reminded of the child.

 _5._ The fifth was a man with history of abuse and alcoholism, and he liked to lash it out on his wife. _Male. 33 years old. Beaten to death._ This slaughter brought her back into the swing of death again when the woman was too afraid to even cry for help. Only one person could do it, and she did it.

 _6._ Her sixth victim was a driver. _Male. 30 years old. Head torn apart by the road on which his vehicle was driving._ She didn't really think twice about this one. Her aunt's life was on the line, and she was more than willing to take this scum's life in order to make sure that the Princess would stay alive.

 _7._ The seventh was a soldier. _Male. 43 years old. Drowning._ This one was the same day as number six, and he was working with the driver. Isabelle didn't have much of a choice, and she put up one hell of a fight. She still thanks Marcus to this day for being able to get the man off of her so she could finish her doing.

 _8._ Number Eight was an armed robber. _Female. 21 years old. Gunshot to the head._ This one was the third in one day, making it that much more significant to her. The homicide was just as much out of self-defence as it was an offensive attack. She had two choices: give up her aunt or make the thief give up her life. She decided she loved May Chang a little too much.

 _9._ Nine kidnapped her. _Male. 27 years old. Lethal blow to the brain._ She finally was able to feel the horror that her brother felt when he was put on the slaughter-line. It was almost a fit of frenzy when she decided to hit him, and she had to escape on her own from there. On the bright side, the Investigations Department had serious training after the fact and they became much better.

 _10._ The last one she bothered to remember was her psychiatrist. _Male. 45 years old. Slit throat._ If it weren't for her work on this case file, she would have been another statistic. Unfortunately, this one also taught her that she needed to learn how to swim. Her slaughter almost ended up with her accidental suicide in the process.

She stopped counting before she'd fire. She'd stop counting the lives she'd take.

Isabelle nodded, aiming the weapon at the target, aiming no higher than the eyes and she took a deep breath. In her head, she counted to ten, then she fired the bullet.

"What did that hit, Lieutenant?" Roy shouted to Riza as she walked to the target examined the shot.

"The arm, sir."

She was improving already.

The second time she fired the bullet, she imagined the man in the beret – the one that murdered her mother in cold blood. It pierced the stomach. She started to feel resentful of her brother for killing him; she would have done it instead. She _should_ have done it.

"I'll kill them all," Isabelle mumbled under her breath, "Every last one of them." She felt herself be slow-cooked by a fiery rage, her mind slowly being consumed by the mouth of vengeance. _Let the world know I'm coming for you._

Everybody would say that the Amestrian-Ziio Revolution began in 1943, shortly after Isabelle's eighteenth birthday, when the people of Ziio launched their first attack against their government. But Isabelle would always believe the Revolution began much, much sooner in 1939. The Revolution began with a murder – one quick, simple murder – of a Resembool Automail mechanic: a mother named Winry Rockbell.

Let the world know. Let the world tremble in fear. Let the world soak in the blood they've shed. Murder! Murder! Murder! Let the world remember her murder! Let her name be spelled with crimson above their beds. Let the world understand once again that she is not her father, that she is not merciful. Let the world be reminded of a body's gravity.

Let the world know the Dead Aim Alchemist was coming.

* * *

"G-General," Isabelle's head snapped back to Mustang, her breathing shaky and the rest of her body following suit, her eyes were wide and starting to tear up. Her voice was low, but desperate, "We need to leave, p-please. I-I can't stay here anymore."

"What's the matter?" the General's eyes widened in concern as he glanced back and saw the man. That's when he knew. Turning back to Madame Christmas, he excused himself and the girl, promising that he'd see her later. He then gestured for Isabelle to follow him as he sat up, and she obeyed without question. She clung to his side as they exited the building, their pace as fast as it could be without running. She glanced back, and he was there.

"General, he's following us!" She gasped to him in a voice just above a whisper.

"I know," he growled as they turned a corner. His mind was racing with thousands of thoughts, his heart vibrating like a consistent drumroll. In the distance, he saw an empty phone booth. He always hated phone booths since the day he lost his best friend, but there was a voice in the back of his head that constantly reminded him that one day they would save someone else. Little did he know: this someone else would be his goddaughter.

He knew it wasn't the safest bet, but he also knew she couldn't run long distances for long periods of time either. Her asthma wouldn't let her run to the military barracks, but to lock her in a booth was probably her best option. He fumbled in his pockets and handed her a ring of keys, and he picked out the one with a blue tag and handed it to her. "Run into that phone booth," he spoke, his voice dangerously low. "Lock it with this."

"Sir, I can't just leave you here."

"Yes you can, and you will. Now, go!" the General shoved Isabelle forward, giving her a head start. As she ran, she couldn't help but glance back at Roy, wanting confirmation of his safety, but all she saw was fire. Snapping her head forward, she turned into the phone booth, fumbling with the key and locking herself in.

She heard a few plops on the glass roofing above her, and her eyes trailed up to the source of the sound. The blonde saw dark clouds, a grey sky, and wetness starting to trickle down the sides of the booth. Just as she lowered her head, she was greeted with a body slamming into the booth, tipping it over. With a shriek, she was suddenly knocked into the ground with a crash.

Now, she was really stuck, since the door was not only locked, but on the pavement. She couldn't get herself out if she tried. Isabelle flipped herself over onto her back to find herself face-to-face with the man with the armband, but this time, he was different. His eyes were black and beady, his teeth came to sharp points, and he seemed to be grinning at her. His face was suddenly encrusted with black scales, and a tail came out from beneath his trench coat, the tip of it starting to scratch on the glass. The girl screamed, covering her ears and turning her head with eyes tightly closed.

 _What the fuck is that thing?!_

Then she remembered her father's stories, when he encountered people that were equal parts human as they were animal. Chimera, he called them. There was only thing wrong with that term – that thing wasn't equal parts. He was man one minute and salamander the next.

 _But it practically shapeshifted!_

There was a soft roar of newly-lit fire, and the attacker turned to face the General, who by this point was shaking, holding a bite mark on his other arm. The chimera leapt off the phone booth and started toward the Flame Alchemist. While Isabelle watched in despair and alarm, Roy tried to burn him again, but this time, nothing came out.

The rain had soaked his gloves.

Desperate, Mustang reached for his backup pistol for situations like this, and he aimed it at the humanoid. The chimera whipped his tail at the firearm, knocking it from his hands and pushing the raven-haired man to the wet pavement.

"Roy!" Isabelle cried out, watching his gun slide right next to her face – the only thing separating her and the weapon was a sheet of glass. She knew that both she and the General didn't have much time left now, and she had to act fast. She started to kick at the thin area of the glass where the chimera started to scratch as hard as she could, using her hands to push the glass upwards; but it wouldn't budge.

The chimera's tail lunged, wrapping around the General's hands behind his back and yanking him upwards and toward the creature, pulling out a knife from the sheath on his chest. He raised to strike–

 _Click_.

"Put him down, asshole!"

The chimera turned his eyes, watching Isabelle shake vigorously with the gun in her hand, aimed directly at him. With a grin, he pulled the General close to him, jerking his head far backward and pinning the knife against his throat. "You wouldn't try to shoot," the creature finally spoke, his voice low and cynical, "From what I've seen, you're a terrible shot. You don't wanna hit the poor General now, do you?"

"Isabelle! Get out of here!" Mustang shouted at her, being held so tight that it was practically impossible to move. He couldn't really see either, his head was forced backwards so far all he could see was the world behind him upside down, if he could see that much from all the rain in his eyes. The heavy droplets collided with the pavement, there was a sound of thunder asserted its dominance on the land.

"I don't want to shoot, just let him go!" the alchemist called out, trying to steady herself, trying to calm herself to aim properly. She had never been this scared in her life, not even on the night on her birthday.

"You could do things the easy way, or the hard way, dear. I was sent specifically for you, but bringing the General as seconds would be a great raise in my pay check," he grinned. She realised right then he wasn't willing to negotiate with her. There was only one option.

"Isabelle, leave!" the General shouted, and then the blade tightened against his neck to tell him to shut up.

Isabelle couldn't stop shaking, her nerves unwilling to cooperate with her. In the end, her nerves would save her life. She couldn't be calm, no matter the various methods she's tried, but she then heard a soft voice in her ear, like a ghost lulling her to sleep. They were two voices, one telling her to fight, and one telling her to calm down. She would hear this every time she would do this from here on out.

 _Somewhere, beyond the gate–_

 _–Look him in the eye, aim no higher–_

 _–Is a little bird flying free–_

 _–Summon all the courage you require–_

 _–Sing little bird, sing little bird,–_

 _–Then count–_

 _–Let your wings guide me._

She got to one: Her mind was blurring, her hearing was disoriented, and her heart was pounding – beating against her chest like a drum, keeping a steady rhythm growing in pace and volume.

By the time Isabelle hit two, she had steadied her balance on the ground, tears stinging along the lower edge of her eyes as she trembled against the firearm. When she rolled around to three, her cheeks were starting to feel the heat from her eyes, the cold rain contradicting to her silent cries.

At four, she glanced at the General. He was yelling something to her, but she couldn't understand what. The chimera was grinning at her, taunting her without using his own voice to do so. When her head chimed five, she thought of her brother. What must he have gone through when he didn't even bother to count, when he gunned down the man in the beret? Did he even think? Did he even flinch?

After six, the child shifted her finger over to the trigger.

Seven, her entire mind blacked out for just a brief moment, then turned back on again. Had she killed him? Had she given up? When she came to, she saw him smirking, her finger never squeezed the trigger.

Eight.

Ni–

Isabelle couldn't even make it to ten. The sound of thunder rang in her ears, smoke filling her nostrils from the gunfire. The rain was heavy by now, the lightning striking off somewhere in the distance, in someplace she couldn't reach. Her fear had controlled her, just long enough to fire the first bullet, and just short enough for her to remember it all.

* * *

AHHHH this was intense to write! I just want to say thank you guys again so much for reading and commenting!

-Elena


	8. Chapter Seven: Cry of the Chimera

WARNINGS FOR: Language, death

I would like to apologise for the long break for this chapter. I have been extremely busy with school (AP testing, planning for senior year, working on college applications, etc.) and I also have been planning my birthday, which was Friday (May 6th) and then there's my Mom's graduation on the 7th and Mother's Day on the 8th. It's been really eventful, to say the least. But thank you for your patience, and here is my next chapter! Thank you so much for reading, enjoy!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

 **Cry of the Chimera**

It was like twelve bees stinging her ears. The sound of the blast punctured the membranes in her lobes, rupturing the drums to echo the noise. Isabelle had lost herself for a split second, becoming the bullet, and yet she didn't know who she hit.

There was a cry, and all she could remember was that both men fell backward. Neither of them got up, and there was too much blood around both of their heads.

* * *

"Holy shit Riza, what happened there?"

"He was shot to bits, that's what happened."

"You're telling me that my own sister did this?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you."

"Holy shit…what would Dad say?"

"That's the thing, Marcus. We're not telling your father."

* * *

At that instant, Isabelle had thought she had just killed the General. She was wrong, of course, but that didn't stop her from panicking.

"General!" Isabelle cried out, rushing to the man on the pavement. She knelt down beside him, shaking him slightly and watched as blood flowed steadily from his temple. Her own blood ran cold, "General, answer me!" He winced.

The new killer looked forward, seeing the chimera, and seeing a single round hole right on his forehead. But that wasn't enough. It was a sudden frenzy; wave after wave of emotion weighed in on the child's instinct as she stood up, gun in hand. Stepping over Mustang, she took aim overtop the corpse, and continued to fire.

Now she realized what Marcus felt – that psychological pressure to make sure the target is dead. She had to make sure he was dead, he had to be! "Isabelle!" came a male voice from behind her, "Isabelle stop it! It's me! It's okay! Everything is okay!" She continued to fire anyway, then he grabbed her from behind and lifted her up to get her to stop. Even after the gun had clicked, the blonde continued to shoot at the corpse, screaming and thrashing against his grasp.

He had to be dead!

"Stop it! Stop it! Isabelle, I said stop it!" From behind, the gun was pried from her grasp and he spun her around. Isabelle froze, finding herself face to face with the General. He set her down, kneeling down to her height, and cupping her face in his hands, "Everything is okay, Izzy. Everything is okay."

The girl didn't cry, she didn't scream. No, she just stared at him in a pained state of shock, her eyes locked in a moment of frenzy. In that moment, it was like they could read each other's thoughts; two minds in the same thought bubble. No words were said – no words were needed to be said.

 _I'm a murderer._

The look in the veteran's eyes replied to her ideas with a tone of comfort, a sense of security flooded her senses. _No, you're just a little girl._

The General pulled her close to him, holding her tightly against his chest, "It's okay. It's all okay." Isabelle didn't move in his grasp, she couldn't peel her eyes off of the corpse that lied next to them; she watched as the blood puddle slowly oozed from the body to touch the toes in her shoes, staring at her reflection in the crimson.

* * *

When Marcus came back from Resembool, he was greeted with the Lieutenant waiting for him with her arms crossed at the train station. He swallowed hard, the look in her eyes said that she knew where he was, and he was petrified on what she was going to do to him.

Fear of spiders is arachnophobia, fear of Riza Hawkeye is logic.

He walked up to her, his body already sweating. "G-Good evening, Lieu-"

"I'll cut to the chase," she interrupted him, trampling over his words as if they were just ants beneath her. Her voice was quick, curt, and unforgiving – not an ounce of regret, not a speck of kindness. "Isabelle and General Mustang were attacked."

"They–What?" Marcus's mind suddenly began to race, his thoughts meshing together in such a worry that he didn't give a damn about what she'd do to him anymore. He didn't even care about the General all that much in the grand scheme of things either. All he could think about was his sister – the only family he had left. The legacy he failed to protect. "Is she okay? What happened? Where are they right–?"

"Isabelle killed him."

His mind shut down, his senses dulled, and there was no more worry to pain him – now there was just pain. His baby sister, a little girl who was taught nothing but peace and mercy since the day she was born, just became a murderer. All because he wasn't there to save her. All because he wasn't there to make things right and stop the attacks himself. All because Marcus was selfish.

Riza turned and began to walk, gesturing for the Elric boy to follow him, "I'm taking you to go see them, so don't dawdle." He couldn't bring himself to move his knees, and yet they seemed to take over his senses and move on their own, carrying him along with it.

The silence weighed on the boy, pushing his tongue to his teeth and pulling his jaw to his bone. And yet the words rolled out anyway. "Isabelle…is she okay?"

The woman didn't answer.

When Marcus found Isabelle, he found her staring at the fountain in the courtyard at the military headquarters, entranced by the flow of water and listening to the roaring sound. Her eyes were glossed over and she didn't seem to respond to any of her surroundings. Water always seemed to do that to her.

"Isabelle," he said in a quiet voice as he sat down next to her. She glanced over at him to show that she acknowledged him, but turned her head back to the water and didn't say anything. She knew that he knew.

"Riza told me what happened," the brother looked down into the palms of his hands that rested one on top of the other on his lap. He remembered his mother. He remembered screaming. "I just wanted to say…" his voice trailed off. _Fuck, Marcus, you can't just lie to her like that. You're not proud of her. But…_ "I'm not mad at you, and I don't love you any less. I know it hurts, Izzy, but believe me when I say–"

"It doesn't hurt," Isabelle spoke in a tone that was quick, curt, and unkind. That was what bothered her. She knew damn well the man was deserving of what he got, she knew that she couldn't feel any remorse for him, but she didn't know why she enjoyed it. She _enjoyed_ it. "He had it comin'."

"And I ain't saying that he didn't deserve it," the boy shrugged with a sigh. He didn't say anything more after that. There was nothing he could say.

"Marcus," the smaller girl shivered as a breeze cut through their lungs and knocked the wind from her system. She had to use her inhaler just to feel some form of relief in her throat. He looked at her and hummed slightly with rising intonation to indicate his response. She took a deep breath, very swiftly, and then she (carefully choosing her words) broke to him some news that would shape them for the rest of their lives.

"When I killed that…thing, my first shot landed right in-between his eyes. It was a perfect hit and a perfect kill. The Führer was impressed. He purposely opened up a new position and he's letting me apply late."

"For what?"

"So that I can be a State Alchemist."

* * *

"Sir! You can't let her go through with this!" Riza's blood was boiling, taking everything in her to keep herself from breaking something in the hospital room.

"I don't have a choice," Roy grumbled, looking out the window and watching two blonde children talk by a fountain stories below. "The Führer said that he wouldn't take my vote for it because he knows how attached I am to her. My word means nothing. Yours means nothing, too. We just have to hope that they aren't impressed with her application and they decline her."

"You made a _promise_ , General!" She looked at him, sitting down at his bedside and lowering her voice so that the entire floor of the hospital couldn't hear her. "Did you tell him that? Did you tell him how you looked Edward dead in the eyes and _promised_ him?"

"I'm aware of this, Lieutenant." He didn't look at her, watching the two converse below, then inhaled sharply as the boy lunged over and held the girl by her shoulders, shaking her slightly as he raised his voice. He could almost hear what he was saying. "But there are more ways to protect someone than to just make them avoid certain situations. I requested she was at the very least put in a ranking where she wouldn't be sent to the front lines of danger as often as the rest of us might."

She huffed out her breath, throwing her head into her hands, her hair gently falling around in front of her, dangling gently like ornaments. The General turned to face her, lifting his hand and extending his arm toward her as he gently brushed her hair back. Another strand fell in its place and he couldn't help but grin slightly as he ran his fingers through the sections. "You know, you never did tell me why you curl your hair like this."

The Lieutenant lifted her head and looked at him as he continued to stroke his fingers through her hair, his eyes watching the gentle waves smoothly bounce whenever his hand would pass the strands' tips. She saw a familiar look in his eyes that she'd only see when they were alone. Only she saw it for what it truly was. She never saw the look he'd give other women to continue his façade as a flirt. This look was hers and hers alone. "It's just in style, sir."

Roy hummed slightly, his eyes glossed over with such warmth and fondness that he was sure his skin was radiating. Times like this, time when he felt a wholeness that only she could reciprocate, he wished that they had always been alone.

Alone together.

Times like this, he forgets all his other situations, all the other people important in his life; because as much as he loved the Elric children, neither of them or the whole world could fill his heart the same way as the irreplaceable Riza Hawkeye.

"General? Is something troubling you?" The Lieutenant never called him anything other than formalities except when they were sure to be alone and private. The same could be said of him, but a few drinks in and he couldn't stop himself from bursting into a fit of giggles and confessions.

Mustang shook his head, his hand migrating from the woman's hair to her face; where his fingers grazed across her skin, then rested, cupping her cheek and jaw just above her neck in his palm. He exhaled, holding his hand there just to feel her heartbeat faintly against her scar, where voice shifted to be low and soft, and his tongue coated with nothing but adoration.

Times like this was where he was reminded by the simple elegance to her beauty, he just had to sit and stare, thinking to himself about how damn lucky he had it. Riza could see it in his eyes, the absolute awe that swirled around his iris and shined through the darkness. Times like this, he had to just think about her and only her.

It wasn't the first time, nor would it be his last, where he had to just speak to himself – tenderly, with such delicacy in volume and tone that only they could hear the loving murmurs.

"My beautiful wife…"

* * *

I'd like to apologise for making this such a short chapter after a long hiatus, but I hope it was at least enjoyable and you can expect more soon! Thank you again so much for reading!

-Elena


	9. Chapter Eight: Sticks and Stones

WARNINGS FOR: Language, violence, mentions of sex, mentions of death

Thank you guys so much for reading and thank you for the birthday wishes! I was managed to finish the rest of my schoolwork and school was out on the 1st, as well as my SAT on the 4th along with some graduation parties for my friends. Buy hey! I'm a senior now! So that's cool. But I managed to get this out! By the way, I mention a "three strand under braid," which is a French braid. But obviously, France isn't part of the Fullmetal Alchemist universe (not on this side of the gate, anyway), so I had to look up another thing to call it. Oh, this chapter is going to be long to make up for the short one last time. Very, very, long. So thank you guys again for reading and reviewing! Enjoy!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

 **Sticks and Stones**

The General stayed in the hospital for another three weeks to fight off the venomous infection from the bite. The Lieutenant visited him frequently, but mainly stayed at his Estate to watch over the Elric children.

Isabelle practically went mute; she no longer took lessons from her tutor, instead she was too busy training herself for the upcoming exam day. She had much less time to prepare and apply instead of everybody else in Central, so she had to hurry if she wanted any decent results to come out of it. It seemed as though only her brother could get through to her to get a response, which nobody knew how common that would become for them. He wouldn't discourage her training, nor would he encourage it – he would instead focus on making sure that she was in an adequate mental state.

The Elrics had a bond that nobody seemed to match, not even the General and the Lieutenant seemed as close as the two children after the event that happened weeks before. Everybody was silent, everybody was cold, and yet while everybody was busy, it didn't seem like they were busy enough.

"Hey, Izzy," Marcus called out, sitting on the back porch steps and watching his sister practice her alchemy on various natural materials around her. "The General is coming home today."

"Mhmm," was all she could respond, trying to think of an idea in regards to her alchemy so she could impress everybody there. But damn was it hard. Isabelle's a thinker, not a fighter, that job was her brother's; and yet it still seemed that she only did more fighting than thinking. All she really could do was fight nowadays.

"The Lieutenant was wanting to take us all out to eat to celebrate it."

It was like a sudden jolt of memories that pierced through her head and chest, stinging everywhere from her muscles to her ears. She saw the insignia; she felt herself falling yet again in the phone booth, screaming at the thing that was on top of her, and desperate to shake away the sound of its tail scraping against the glass. "No," the alchemist responded with a word that sliced through the air.

Marcus just took a deep breath and nodded in his response. He didn't know what else to say.

* * *

It seemed that every time something important happened, it rained. Isabelle wasn't complaining, she in fact loved the rain. But it was unsettling that the earth seemed to match its schedule with events that took place in her life. About the only time it didn't rain during something that would change her life, it was the incident on her birthday. Even then, Resembool hadn't seen rain in weeks by that point – right in the midst of a drought. It's no fun, really, something detrimental happens and it's either too dry or too wet. Never pretty weather.

And yet, ironically, Isabelle found relief in the rain. She melted against the touch of wet drops soaking every centimetre of her skin. Starting at the face staring toward the sky down the bottommost depths of the soles in her feet, the water grazed across her, washing away her stresses. Sometimes, if she got rained out of training, she'd unwind by reading under the protection of a tree; the only sound to disturb her was the gentle pitter patter of the rain, and she didn't mind it.

The rain was a safe haven for the Elric daughter, one of the very few things left that she could find comfort in, and she took every opportunity she could to sit amongst the droplets of water. It didn't really matter what she did.

It seemed to be raining all the time in Central after she killed the shapeshifting chimera. It rained when she would try to train, it would rain when she would try to go to the library, and it rained when the General came home. She needed it – especially after an evening where she wouldn't have a particularly good night sleep. The darkness and the rain: her own personal heaven. A common new pastime came when Marcus would wake up to not find his sister in her bed, but on some branch outside, barely covered in a blanket and soaked to the bone. Carefully, he would climb up the tree and retrieve her, taking her back inside and tucking her in her own bed for her to wake up whenever she decided.

He'd talk to her a lot when he'd pick her up and take her back to the Estate, knowing she would never hear what he said, nor that she would never know. It'd be various subjects, all of which varied, but they all had a theme: he'd keep it loud enough for her to hear, but quiet enough to sooth her while she slept. Sometimes, he'd just make random sounds when he couldn't think of anything to say, just like his mother would when he was little. His favourite would be when Winry would string together "s" and "k" sounds to make incoherent "Sksks" sounds. He didn't know that one day he'd do it, much less to his baby sister.

He'd typically would talk to her for some short time in her room to make sure she wouldn't suddenly wake up to drastic differences. He knew that it didn't exactly work that way, but he liked gradual change, so that's what he did. Later in the girl's life, she wouldn't know why he would manage to calm her just by soft noises and gently petting her head or arms with his thumb. He would have to learn to do this to her while she was awake. However, he'd tire himself by his own echoes, having to lug himself into his room to catch up on as much sleep as he could before he had to wake up to go for his apprenticeship. But then there were those days where the Lieutenant would go to wake up the boy, but couldn't find him there. He'd instead in Isabelle's room, either in a chair or his head on the bed and his hand holding her arm, kneeling at her bedside, as if he passed out while he was comforting her.

Normally, when he would go to pull her off of the branch, he'd only have to wake up at around 6, since Riza would normally wake at 7. Since the General's return, Marcus had to be extra careful to wake up even earlier so that Roy wouldn't find a bed without an Isabelle in it.

It wasn't a daily occurrence, but the Elric son honestly wished it was. They practically never saw each other during the day, and when they would, she was so distant. So busy. He was proud of her, really, proud that she had the opportunity to do what she always wanted. But, due to the circumstances, was it really worth it? He knew that she wasn't as open with everybody else as she was with him, and that helped relieve him somewhat, but it still wasn't something comforting to know that his baby sister isn't his baby sister anymore. She had grown up, and all too fast.

During early spring, the exam date was approaching closer and closer by the hour, and Isabelle had practically locked herself in the General's library, reading anything and everything she could before she had to write her essay.

"The exam consists of three parts: a written essay, that's the first part, then there's a one-on-one interview, and then there's the practical exam, which is the hardest part." She remembered the General's words clearly, these statements weighing on her as she read every word, as she threw every punch, even while she slept. The General and the Lieutenant did practically nothing to help her, and she was made very aware that they didn't want her to join the military. But she knew that they didn't have a choice.

It was up to her to get herself in, and one day it would be up to her to get herself out.

She was scared – every muscle was tense as she was driven to the testing site, her eyes scanning every careful detail in the carvings of marble. Marcus gently took to her hands in his and squeezed them tightly, "Good luck, Izzy."

Isabelle nodded, swallowing hard, "Thank you."

Without any other words, the girl stepped out of the car, and her legs forced her up the marble steps. She could feel the eyes on her, analysing every aspect of her and deciding that she was much too young to even be allowed through the doors.

But they allowed her through.

Her wrist pained her, her mind went numb, and yet she still lost herself to the rhythm of her own words. Isabelle's thoughts raced, writing down every little lyric she could think of, entranced and inspired by the books she read. She mimicked their tone, copied their style, and wrote in her own unique way that gave it a voice. Her voice.

When the timer sounded, the girl glanced around to find that she was the last one in the room. She had used the whole time.

"Alright Izzy, it's time to turn your essay in." The General spoke in a voice that mimicked newly expired honey – smooth, sweet, but with a slight bite.

"But, sir, I'm not done." She stood, adjusting her papers together. She had about nine pages. She tried so desperately to shove her accent as far away from her tongue as best as she possibly could, trying to sound as remotely "normal" to the rest of them with the most effort she can have. It hurt her to speak this way – it was unnatural and far too much work. But she knew (thanks to an outburst from the General one night) nobody would take her seriously if she came into the military sounding like she was an uneducated southerner. He wasn't insulting her or where she came from, but he knew the stereotypes, and the last thing he wanted was this model alchemist to be labelled just because she was from Resembool.

There came murmurs from the four leaders below, and then the Führer asked, "How much more do you have left to write?"

She flipped through her papers, thinking for a moment about how much she had left to finish before she could wrap up her thoughts, "I'd need about two more pages, sir. It'll take me about fifteen more minutes."

"Holy shit," came from the Brigadier General, Scott Von Dower. The individuals looked at one another, whispering and mumbling – debating on whether or not to give the girl that extra time. They had a five minute margin for those who needed to wrap up their thoughts, just in case, but nobody ever got to that point, much less needing an extra ten minutes on top of that.

"May I ask why you need that time, Miss Elric?" spoke a woman with her blood red tied back and dark green eyes. It was the Colonel: Rosa Graham.

"I would be unsatisfied with my essay if I rushed it too much or if it was incomplete," Isabelle replied with complete honesty. It resulted in more murmurs and mini-debates. The mumbling died down, then the Führer cleared his throat and inhaled.

"You may have that extra time, and we expect high quality results for this."

"Yes sir, thank you sir," the small alchemist nodded, promptly sitting back down in her seat and scribbling onto the paper. She had to wrap up her thoughts as quick as possible. She gave herself some extra time, it seemed, because she brought her finished essay to the table with five minutes to spare. "Thank you, sir," she said again.

The Führer smiled warmly, then nodded in response, "You're dismissed now. We will inform you of your results in a week to see if you may be qualified for the interviewing process."

She nodded shakily. Isabelle was kind of scared of the people in front of her – short of maybe the General – and she wanted to impress them. Edward and Alphonse created big shoes for her to fill in, and the girl wanted to expand on their footsteps to make the imprints larger. She felt it was her destiny, that it would be her _legacy_.

Almost, but not quite.

Her legacy will come from a diary she won't remember writing.

"So, how'd it go?" The Lieutenant asked as Isabelle shut the door when she entered the car.

"I'm not really proud of how it turned out." She finished it, though. It was better than most that just turned in what they had without any conclusion to their papers whatsoever. The girl was so tense that Riza could feel it from the front seat. "I don't think they'll like it."

"I hope they don't," Hawkeye mumbled, and then glanced in the rear-view mirror as she drove to find Isabelle glaring with her arms crossed. They both knew why she said it, but that didn't change the fact one of them didn't like those words. The woman sighed, "But you are your worst critic, Isabelle. Just relax."

She couldn't.

* * *

"General Mustang, you said this girl was Edward Elric's daughter? As in, the 'Fullmetal Alchemist' Edward Elric?" asked Colonel Graham, her voice giving emphasis on the rising intonation, her nose gently upturned and now wearing her glasses.

"There's only one, so yes," the General responded, glancing at the younger woman, "Why do you ask?"

"I'd like to see his score on the essay. I would like to see where Isabelle got her smarts from." She was impressed, without a doubt, and she had to read the essay twice to make sure she scored it right. To even be considered for the military, the individual would have to have scored at least a fifteen. The average score was a twenty. To be recognised on the military genius level, said individuals would have to score higher than a twenty-eight. The highest possible score one could receive was a sixty, and the highest score recorded was a thirty-nine, belonging to King Bradley.

The General glanced at the score on the paper, then he quickly snatched it from her, flipping and skimming through the pages, "Have the others scored her yet?" He received a nod in response. The way the scoring process worked was that each of the four key leaders in Central – the Führer, the General, the Brigadier General, and the Colonel – would rank the paper on a scale of one through fifteen, and then pass it along. The total sum of all four rankings would be her score.

 _Fuck._

The General knew that no matter what score he gave her now, she was still more than apt for the next steps of becoming a State Alchemist. The Führer gave him a harsh scolding before the essay testing began, telling him to grade Isabelle's in pure honesty. He planned to, but only with a slight curve.

Now, he can't do even that. Her score was already too high.

Thinking maybe the Führer gave her a perfect score just to spite him, he started to read through the essay for himself to score her, only to realise that she earned that score all on her own.

 _Damn it, Fullmetal. Why did your kid turn out to be so damn smart?_

"Her father's score was a twenty. Alphonse's score was a twenty-three," the Colonel informed him. He completely forgot that Alphonse even took the exam, only to drop out before the interviewing process so that they wouldn't find out why he was in that suit of armour.

 _Smarter than you, even._

Hell, he would have given Isabelle a perfect score, too, had he not known that it was hers. He could have given her a one, but the Führer would have known that Roy would have done it to try and keep her from joining. In the end, he knew he had to score her honestly, and no matter what he could do to level out her chances, she still would have the highest score in history.

When it came down to it, she earned a perfect score of fifteen from both the Führer and the Colonel. The Brigadier General gave her a thirteen. The General gave her a fourteen. The youngest female (which was, ironically, yet another Elric) in history to join the military also became the one with the highest essay score the military has ever seen, and one they would never see again.

Isabelle scored a fifty-seven.

* * *

"You're kidding..!"

Marcus was the first to speak when the General told the rest of the family the news of Isabelle's success. Mustang nodded, "They were discussing what to do with her even if she doesn't pass the other two parts of the exam. You're a real genius, Izzy."

"I get it from my parents," Isabelle remembered her father, who had been praised for being an alchemical prodigy when he had just started to learn how to draw a transmutation circle. Then she remembered her mother.

She didn't want to remember anymore.

"When's the interview?" Marcus asked, trying to change the subject after picking up on his sister's discomfort.

"Tomorrow, so I suggest that you get to bed so you won't be exhausted when they ask you questions," the General responded. By this point, he was taking off the top half of his military uniform, folding it over his arm and untucking his white t-shirt. "You have already made a good first impression on them, and if you want to keep them impressed, then you need to show them."

Isabelle nodded, bookmarking the page she was on in her book and then scurried up the stairs, skipping a step every time she ascended, her brother following close behind to make sure she won't trip up the stairs like she sometimes would. Nobody thought that was possible, and yet she proved everybody wrong yet again.

When the children reached their rooms, the General plopped himself onto the couch with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair and stretching to relax. The Lieutenant sat next to him as he groaned, "What am I going to do with her?"

He would always rely on her for an answer when he had none, even if they weren't the best, and this was no exception. His empty questions would always be filled. "You could ask her the most difficult questions during the interview. Your justification could be that you're testing her intelligence, to see if she's quick, or if she's the type of thinker that needs time."

"You know as well as I do that she's a _very_ quick thinker," the General grumbled, "It just feels that no matter what we do, everything is working against us. It's going to happen, Lieutenant. You know it. I know it. It's inevitable. I won't know what do with her once she's a State Alchemist."

"Well, you would be the only person that would have most authority over her, short of the Führer," the Lieutenant was already thinking of a list of commands for Isabelle only: a curfew, carry a weapon at all times, restrictions on her traveling – it would be very easy for the General to have control over the girl once she's a dog of the military.

He thought for a moment about what she was trying to say, then he laughed lowly, "Lieutenant, you're a goddamn genius."

"I try, sir," she chuckled, stretching back and closing her eyes, taking a deep breath. Then, she felt hands on her and she felt herself being pulled. Her head gently rested against the General's chest as he laid down across the couch by this point, his arms around hers and his eyes shut.

They laid there together for a moment of soothing silence, then the Lieutenant spoke in a tired and relaxed voice, "When are we going to tell the public?"

"We don't have to. The important people know, that's it. We just need to tell the kids," the General responded with a tone of voice to mirror hers. He was going to say something else, but he decided otherwise, knowing it would just hurt them both. He decided it would be better to suffer silently alone than to let her suffer with him.

She hummed gently as her response, feeling as the General gently rested one hand on her back and with the other he carefully played with her hair. "It's ironic," she spoke after a moment, "The only kids we could have aren't even ours."

There it was.

They had attempted so many times to have children, and they just couldn't. Well, they thought the sex was great, but they never could receive that outcome they were wanting, the reason why they wanted to make love in the first place: a baby. They had been trying time and time again long since before Marcus was even born, and they didn't stop until recently, when they both just gave up. Deep down, they didn't want to give up, and they wanted to keep trying. And yet they both knew it was impossible.

The hand that played with her hair stopped, tracing back up along her face and cupped her cheek. He pulled her head up and his eyes met hers, both had the same sad gloss in their eyes. They didn't say anything, but the General leaned his head forward and gently placed his lips on hers.

When they pulled apart, they didn't have that gloss as much as they had before. The General smirked slightly, "Look at it in a positive way, I don't think I could ever love someone more than you. So, that way, our kids won't have to worry about if I favour you over them, because I probably would."

The Lieutenant chuckled slightly, and the General couldn't tell if it was sarcastic or sincere. "Sir, you really do have to sort out your priorities."

"I don't have to. My only priority is you."

One corner of Riza's mouth lifted in a half smile, then took a deep breath. She felt eyes on her, carefully watching her every move with Roy, and she most certainly didn't feel comfortable with it. When she turned her head to meet where the source was, her amber eyes met blue ones as she found herself looking at a little girl brushing her golden blonde hair at the bottom of the steps, already wearing her favourite baby blue nightgown.

Isabelle really did have a bad habit of walking in at the worst times.

"I-I'm sorry, ma'am. I shoulda just–" the child began, but before she could finish, the Lieutenant shushed her, sitting up with a sigh. The General let out a soft groan of pain as all of the woman's weight was on his pelvis, not even careful to make herself feel lighter. Neither of the girls paid him any attention. But this was the first time that the little alchemist noticed the rings they wore.

"Don't worry about it, we were going to tell you sometime soon anyway," Riza said. "What did you need?"

"I was wanting to ask if tomorrow you could help me look presentable during the interview," the girl was trying her hardest to choose words that didn't sound like something normal folks down in Resembool would say. The Lieutenant nodded, then gesturing for her to go upstairs and to get into bed.

"You're accent's slowly getting better," the General commented as Isabelle bounced up the stairs. She didn't respond to him, but she took that comment to heart. She was improving. Once they heard her door shut, the Lieutenant laid her head back down onto the General's chest. There was another moment of silence, then the man chuckled, "What was that you said about telling the kids?"

That following morning, the Lieutenant woke Isabelle up early so that she could work on her hair. They were confused at first about what to do with it, as it was rather long and there were endless possibilities. However, she wanted the fourteen year old to look modest and simple, but to still have enough there to be considered pretty. She decided on a three strand under braid, a small braid that took sections of the hair each time she twisted the strands together.

Now, the only braid Isabelle was accustomed to was the classic loose braid, and so having the Lieutenant practically rip her hair off of her scalp a little at a time to connect the strands together started to hurt like hell. She didn't complain, though, as she was afraid of upsetting the woman for doing something like this to her; she instead would just hiss in pain until the knot was tied at the tip of the braid, holding it in place.

Isabelle didn't have time to look at her hair just yet, because the Lieutenant rummaged through her drawers to look for the right makeup for a young girl. She wasn't going to give her a full out makeover like women normally did, oh no, she was much too young. What she did instead was just give the basic necessities to conceal any flaws, such as the girl's new and upcoming acne, and to accentuate her most appealing features.

"Do you have the proper attire?" she asked while she applied concealer over the spots.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do you have an idea about how you're going to respond to each question?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are you scared?"

"No, ma'am."

The Lieutenant stopped, examining the girl with clear skin and dabbed some light blush onto her cheeks so that she didn't look as pale as a ghost. She then applied red lipstick onto her, but then had her but her lips against a napkin and rub slightly to take off the extremity of the colour. When she removed the napkin, she blended the red out to where the colour was faint across her lips, but noticeable and modest. She took a step back, studying Isabelle's face, then she walked behind her and handed her a mirror.

When Isabelle lifted the mirror to her face, she couldn't really tell that much of a difference just yet. She thought she looked the same, except with a clear face and slightly more colour to her lips, like she drank some red wine and it left behind a faint stain. "I don't look any different," she confessed, then she heard Riza take in a deep breath.

"That's how your makeup is supposed to look," the Lieutenant said. "You should still look like you when you're done."

For a moment, Isabelle eyed her hair in this new braid, then she set the mirror down and stood up, giving a quick thanks before leaving to her room to get dressed into a formidable outfit. She chose to stick with something professional: a black pencil skirt and an elegant white ruffle front blouse with sleeves that stopped halfway between her shoulder and her elbow. This girl wasn't particularly fond of stockings, but she had to wear them on nice occasions as much as she despised them, and this was one of those occasions. Her black heels weren't high, about 3.81 centimetres, she didn't like wearing those either, but she did. To finish her outfit, she put on simple white gloves that cut off at her wrist. In the end, she looked not only awfully professional for her age, but also extremely very classy.

Just as she finished, her door knocked and Marcus slowly creaked open her door, covering his eyes so that way he didn't accidentally see her while she was changing.

"Marcus, I'm fully clothed," Isabelle giggled.

He removed his hand from his eyes and opened them, going to speak, but he stopped when he saw his sister. He eyed her up and down for a moment before letting out a slight whistle, "I'll be damned, I never thought I'd see you this dressed up…ever!" This prompted a glare from the girl, not amused in the least bit, and he laughed in response. "Oh lighten up, Izzy, I'm teasing. You look very nice."

"Thanks," she rolled her eyes. "What did you need?'

"The General wanted me to come see if you were ready. You need to be there soon," he saw her worried face, then his own changed to match hers. "What's wrong, Izzy?"

"What if they don't like me?" she looked at him eye to eye, she had lied to the Lieutenant earlier by saying she wasn't scared. She was scared out of her mind. She didn't like talking to people anyway, but not only was she being made to, but she has to talk about herself. They're probing her mind and getting inside her psyche, something she was always uncomfortable about her own family doing, much less members of the military. She wanted to just skip over the interview entirely, having rather deal with the most strenuous training rather than letting strangers pick at her brain. "What if I say the wrong thing during the interview? I'm not good at this, Marcus. You know this."

He nodded, fully aware about Isabelle's introverted tendencies. It wasn't a recent thing, talking to people was something she always had issues doing, but he found the task to be so easy that he didn't understand why it stressed her out so much to do something as mundane as order something at a restaurant. She'd always have someone else do it for her so she can keep her contact with strangers at a minimum. "Just breathe, everything will be fine. What's the worst thing that could happen? You stutter? Then stutter with confidence, like you meant to do it in the first place."

She turned her head to the side, thinking about every scenario running through her head and every possible outcome to said scenario. What was her father thinking when he had to do this, and he was _twelve_? What about the General and the Lieutenant? What thoughts must have gone through their heads when their brains were being poked with words?

It was like when Isabelle would use a stick to overturn a stone when she would play outside back in Resembool as a child, prodding at the insects underneath with the twig. It seemed that now she was the insect under the stone, and they had their sticks aimed directly at her scalp, hidden under a three strand under braid.

"Listen to me," Marcus said, cupping her face in his hands and looking at her in the eyes, "Everything is going to be fine."

And fine it was.

* * *

Isabelle returned to the Estate later than everybody expected, and when she was questioned why, the General spoke for her, "They had an interest with her. It's not every day you stumble on a genius that wants to work for you."

Isabelle immediately walked upstairs into her bedroom and practically tore her clothes off of her, desperate to slip into something comfortable. She wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, it felt that she hit her quota of conversing for the day, and she was mentally exhausted. She just wanted to unwind. As she finished putting on her nightgown, she walked across the hall into the bathroom and proceeded to scrub her makeup off her face and rip her hair out of the most uncomfortable braid in the world.

When she came back downstairs with a book in her hands, she didn't say anything. She instead just walked right past the three people as they talked to each other and plopped down onto the armchair and rested her legs on the ottoman, where she proceeded to relax her thoughts by reading. She wanted to just clear her head.

"So, how'd it go?" Marcus asked, sitting on the sofa in-between his sister and the loveseat, specifically on the corner that sat closer to her. She gave him a look in response, not needing to say anything for him to be able to basically read her mind without her having to speak at all.

 _It was alright._

"Well, that's good. It could have been worse, you know," he shrugged, leaning back in his seat to relax. There was a moment, where Isabelle finished reading that specific chapter, then the General walked into the living room with the Lieutenant following close behind.

"The practical exam isn't for another week, giving you time to practice your skills and train, or read in your case," the General spoke in a tone that could be taken as either a backhanded compliment, or a sarcastic remark. Either way, he wasn't fond of the girl being able to slack off easily and still be praised because of her intelligence. "What are you even reading?"

Isabelle didn't answer, she just lifted her book to show him the cover of the book she was currently engrossed in. _"Mary Poppins."_ It took a lot of nerve from her to finally pick up the book, because all she could think about was her uncle talking about how much he loved the story at her birthday. All she could think about was Alphonse for the longest time, and as she was reading the book, she realised why he loved it so much. It was touching, really, and remarkably clever, but whimsical and interesting enough to leave a pleasant taste behind for the reader. It helped her cope with his absence – knowing that he was a country away was one thing, but knowing that she may never see him again tore her to pieces – and this little book helped fill a little bit of the gap in her heart that he left behind when he had been taken away from her.

The General simply shrugged his shoulders and sat down with his wife on the loveseat across from the armchair and on the other side of the sofa. "You know, I'm actually glad you're reading instead the other things most girls your age do," he said, trying to make a conversation that was only going one way. He looked at the Lieutenant, "What do they do at her age anyway?"

"You're asking the wrong woman," said she. She had a point, she never really did have a childhood after her mother died. Berthold wasn't a good father, and her family situation was something that not even the Elric family really knew. At Isabelle's age, she was trying to have any opportunity to leave the house as much as she possibly could, because staying inside and reading was dangerous.

"They go out and dance the Swing with their boyfriends," Marcus informed them nonchalantly, "At least that's what they do nowadays. I don't know about what my parents' generation did at fourteen." He knew what his parents were doing, but everybody else was a different story.

"What the hell is the Swing?" the General asked, trying to understand the new words of the new generation's time.

"It's a dance, I don't really know how to explain it," Marcus thought for a moment. He and Thomas had danced the Swing a few times before, when they skipped out on prom and went to an empty park to have all the room to themselves. The night was theirs. "It's like, you and your partner are swinging around the room and dancing. Does that make sense?" This prompted a shake of the head from the two adults.

He thought for a moment, then he stood up and turned on the radio, flipping various channels until he found music that fit the dance. He looked over at his sister, "Isabelle, come here and follow my lead."

Isabelle looked up at him with a deadly glare, her voice biting already to show her discomfort with speaking, much less dancing, "Marcus, I am not dancing." Her accent had almost disappeared, all that remained was a twang on her vowel sounds. He sighed, following the beat of the music from the radio, he did a slight boogie as he walked to his sister and yanked her book from her, setting it on a shelf she couldn't reach. It was still left open so that she wouldn't lose her spot. He took her by the hands and pulled her up, despite her loud protests by this point and clear anger, "Marcus! I said I'm not dancing!"

"Come on, lighten up, Izzy," he laughed pulling her to the centre of the room where there was plenty of space for the two do dance the Swing in its entirety. "Have some fun! Follow my lead."

Marcus started by slowly walking to one end, barely holding her hand while she stood at the other, then it all happened so fast. He pulled her to him, twirling her as she practically leapt in his direction, and he proceeded to dance with her exactly as he described: by swinging around the dance area they had. As far as their legs were concerned, it was a miracle they didn't get tangled up with each other from all the kicking and twisting. There would be those occasions where he would toss her into the air or flip her around across his back or throw her between his legs and yank her back up. Isabelle's mind was racing, her vision blurred but she remembered her laughter; her mind sometimes slowed, catching glimpses of her brother's smiling face when their vision would happen to cross paths or when she dangled upside down and saw the Mustangs' overjoyed face while they watched their dance as if it were their favourite thing to see in the world, clapping along to the music that resonated throughout the room. She specifically remembered the music that played, she couldn't tell you the name if she thought of it, but once she'd hear the first few notes and tunes she'd instantly recognise it, and her mind would take her back to here.

This was a memory that stuck with her forever, even after her first death. It was probably the most fun she had ever had since her family was taken away, and it felt as if she was just starting to peel the sun off her shoulders – holding it up with sticks and stones.

When the music ended, she found herself sitting on the armchair again, her brother sitting where he was before the dance, her head spinning and dizzy out of her mind, faintly hearing the Lieutenant and the General clapping, but she was happy. For once in her life since her fourteenth birthday, she felt happy. She didn't even want to keep reading, so she just sat there, trying to catch her breath and hydrate herself while she grinned from ear to ear. She felt a pang in her chest from her asthma, but she ignored it. It was a mild reaction, and it would go away if she took deep breaths and kept drinking water, which was what she was already doing.

"You know, that kinda reminds me of a dance that we used to dance back in…what was it, the '20s? It was just as you kids were born. Remember it, Lieutenant?" The General looked over at the woman, who was chuckling to herself and nodding, remembering it clearly: the Charleston. It most certainly was the twenties, that's when it hit its peak in popularity. She could see how the Swing derived from it, except the Charleston didn't involve that much flipping and tossing into the air, unless if they wanted to _really_ impress the crowd. It just had a lot more kicks and twirls, and when the girl would be wearing those dresses that flapped around and bounced with every gesture like she once had, it added that much more movement to the dance overall.

"When are you guys ever going to call each other by your real names?" Marcus teased, leaning forward in his seat and resting his elbows on his knees.

"That's bedroom talk," Riza smirked as she said it so coolly, her grin widening when she saw the Elric children make gagging noises and shift uncomfortably at the thought of her and the General in the bedroom. It wasn't exactly true, nor was it false. They preferred to use their names during sex, but there would be that rare occasion when they would say it when they were both completely calm and safe together, giving them that same feeling of comfort and togetherness that they would have when they slept together. It was heaven.

That's when the General made it worse when he tuned his head toward the Lieutenant and said a rather flirtatious comment: "You wanna talk like that again tonight?"

Isabelle yelled out in disgust, cringing inward and recoiling her legs up to her chest and covering her ears, making loud noises to make sure she couldn't hear another comment such as that. It made the adults have a good laugh out of her repulsed demeanour. Marcus had quite the similar reaction, but proceeded to desperately try to change the subject, "What was this dance you were talking about?"

"It's called the Charleston," the General explained. "It's like the Swing except it involves less throwing and more kicking."

"General, that was an indirect way of him asking you two to _dance_ it," Isabelle groaned, but excited to see how they had to dance how she thought they would have done it in their wedding.

"Oh, we can't do that," the Lieutenant stammered, her face blushing slightly at the thought of dancing with her husband in front of people again. She was embarrassed when she had to do it after a few drinks, much less completely sober. "You need to wear certain clothes for it and the General and I are too old for it and–"

"Are you saying you don't want to, Lieutenant?"

When she looked up to the source of the voice, she found the General standing with one hand in his pocket and the other outstretched to her. He had taken off the military top entirely, leaving only his white t-shirt and his baggy military pants; Riza wore normal attire as she didn't have to go to work these two weeks due to the General ordering her to stay at the home with the kids. It would be strange to watch, but not as strange as it was for Isabelle, who wore a baby blue nightgown, and Marcus, who wore an outfit that made him look like a paperboy. Roy didn't mind dancing again, especially since it was in front of only the Elric kids. It made Riza think for a moment, then she took his hand and stood up with him, "I never said I didn't want to."

Isabelle leaned over and hid her lips with the back of her hand and whispered to Marcus, "I bet you five hundred cenz they'll make out before they can finish."

He sneered at her, "You're on, sister."

"Sir," the Lieutenant gestured to the radio, which was playing other music similar to the one that played while the Elrics danced the swing. That wouldn't do. They needed full on jazz music, the kind that made one's heart bounce around and their legs start jolting out on their own.

The music began to play, and there was a moment where the General and the Lieutenant just stood side by side without doing a thing, then Riza burst into a dance, Roy acting as her assistant dancer, mainly keeping out of her way while she moved to the main part of the dance. It wasn't until shortly after a few kicks when the General took her hand and they proceeded to turn the single person dance into a partnership. They always had a gift for doing that. Marcus was trying to imagine a flapper dress and a tux on the pair, while Isabelle was impressed at the footwork itself that went into the dance.

It wasn't as fun as the Swing, that was for damn sure, but Isabelle could see the looks on their faces that they were most certainly enjoying themselves. Then, her prediction came true, the General pulled the Lieutenant to him as they laughed some. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment, no dancing, music playing, then the General bent over slightly to kiss her.

There was a roar between the two Elric children, Isabelle's was a war cry of success, and Marcus was a scream of defeat as he leaned back and threw his hands into the air. The Mustangs had immediately stopped to see why they were screaming, only to see the daughter nagging her brother about winning the bet. "Show me the money!" she giggled.

"Did you bet on us?" the General asked, almost offended. He didn't let himself get too upset when he saw Isabelle's joyful pride on her face, a look she almost never carried. Sighing, he watched Marcus dig in his pocket and give five hundred cenz to the girl.

"You know, what are you going to do with that? That's quite a bit of money," the Lieutenant asked with slight concern in her voice. It was more than enough for a train ticket, and the last thing she wanted was for her to follow in her brother's footsteps but then have things take a turn for the worse and have the odds stack against her favour.

"I'm saving it," Isabelle said that much, but didn't elaborate any more on what exactly she was going to buy. There could have been many things she was going to buy on it, but nobody knew exactly what she was going to buy with it until March – on Marcus's twentieth birthday.

The General glanced at the radio, noticing it was past bed time for both of the kids, but he didn't bother to say anything. It wasn't often one would see Isabelle smile, and so he wanted to cherish the moment until she was tired and put herself to bed. The Lieutenant seemed to pick up on that too, because she nudged Roy and gestured to the clock on the radio. He just nodded and mouthed, "I know." They returned to their place in the loveseat, and just watched the siblings conversed, hardly paying any attention to their conversation. Whatever they were discussing, it must have excited Isabelle, because the expression on her face beamed with enthusiasm. When he focused on their conversation, she was talking about her favourite hobby: reading.

"I mean, think of all the different stories! Just the creativity and thought alone that goes into writing a novel is incredible, but when someone reads it, there's not one alike interpretation and there's so many things that are yet to discover in even the oldest books and–"

"I found the secret to get you to talk with confidence," Marcus chuckled at his sister, "I'll just let you talk about things you're passionate about."

Isabelle paused for a moment, then she asked, "Do you reckon that I shoulda spoken that way during the interview?"

"You did for a while," the General answered with a statement. He didn't explain when she did, but he didn't have to, they both knew. At that, Isabelle yawned, stretching as she stood and rubbing her eyes. "Are you going to bed?" She nodded in his response, noticing her brother follow suit and state that he was going to hit the hay as well. "Goodnight, kids."

"Goodnight, General," Isabelle tiredly waved, then she sluggishly took her book and walked up the stairs, Marcus following swiftly behind her.

It was one of few nights she would remember until the first time she died.

* * *

That whole week, Isabelle had trained herself in various methods of alchemy and in combat, becoming mediocre in most forms. Her asthma and lack of strength wouldn't let her go any further than average fighting, giving her another reason she would soon decide to rather take a life instead of beating into submission. She only needed to impress three out of the four people judging her skills.

The assessment day came sooner than she had hoped, but she still forced herself out of bed anyway, less confident in her practical exam than she was her interview. She felt that her only useful asset was her smarts, so she had to make sure to incorporate intelligence with fighting. She knew they would judge her alchemy more than they would assess her skills in combat, but she felt that she didn't need to focus on improving something she was already decent at. She knew that hand-to-hand combat was what was going to be significant in the real world, regardless if she becomes a dog of the state. She dressed herself in comfortable and tactical clothes, about the only thing she didn't enjoy doing was pulling her hair up into a tight ponytail so that it remained out of her face. She didn't bother with the makeup or with the fancy stockings or the shoes with heels with too many centimetres to her liking and comfort.

Isabelle waited on the front porch outside, waiting for the General to take her to the headquarters in the car. When he arrived with his coat folded over his arm, she stood up from the porch steps. They didn't really say anything, he just gestured to the vehicle and she scurried down the steps and into the passenger side.

She didn't know why she felt uncomfortable during the drive, but then she realised why after he took a deep breath as he pulled into the driveway. "You know, it's never too late for you to drop out. They'll be understanding about it," he said. It made her realise that he knew her capabilities, and regardless of her practical assessment part of the exam, he was fully aware that her interview and essay were proof enough that she was going to be in the military, even if she's going to stay behind the lines and do most of the thinking.

He's scared.

"Can't turn back, General," Isabelle replied simply. And with that, they both stepped out of the car and walked into the arena – where basic alchemical materials were laid out and ready for everyone else to use. She saw fewer faces than the ones she saw when she went to write her essay, and she questioned how some people can struggle with writing an essay over a simple question.

"You are free to demonstrate whatever you wish, just remember that you have to impress us. So, whenever you're ready, you may begin," the Führer informed the crowd of alchemists.

"Why is that kid still here?" Isabelle heard some man mumble to his friend as they eyed her carefully. They had only heard of one person getting into the military around her age – and he went on to save Amestris in the "Amestrian Civil War," as they called it. Those involved know it as the Promised Day.

"Because I'm smarter than you," she shot her response in their direction, watching their faces contort in outrage, clearly offended at her comeback.

"If I may, I would like to go first," spoke a boy who looked just a few years older than Marcus, his brown hair chiselled itself over one of the boy's eyes, his left one in particular, and his eyes were a piercing grey; his face had been already carved as if he were made of marble, but it didn't match with his body, which was a much more common body type.

"Proceed," the General stated calmly, "and state your name when you start to work."

"My name is William Targensen," he said as he fumbled around with the tree branches closer to his height, ripping them off and connecting them together with some copper metal wire that he found on one of the tables that carried access minerals. He transmuted the sticks and wire together, then created a small metal pole using the ground. Using one end of the now thick metal rope, he tied it around the pole, and wrapped the other end around his waist as he walked as far as the string would let him go. He drew a circle where he stood, and his platform began to rise, with smaller platforms sticking out of it to be spiral stairs she he can ascend and descend, ending with a much smaller metal pole poking from the centre of the platform. Taking the string he had around his waist, he tied it tightly around the smaller pole, then walked down the stairs to the bottom. "If this works like I planned, this would be able to act like a trip wire, but instead of exploding if they walk through it, it'll use extreme concentrated heat and electricity to obliterate them into dust."

 _That simple getup won't get you the results you want, big boy._

William walked to his string and carefully drew a small circle on that, wrapping his hand over it until he had to yank it off so that way he wouldn't be electrocuted. The blast became so powerful, it shattered half of the ascended platform. Everybody watched, amazed.

"Now, let's watch the magic happen," he grinned. He took a stone and tossed it into the wire, but it simply bounced off of the string and rolled toward the boy. His jaw dropped as he picked up the rock, his voice aghast, "What?"

"Your theory was flawed," Isabelle told him, walking toward the wire, playfully tugging at the string. "The electricity was there, yes, but it left because nothing was keeping it trapped in the wire. Your poles were conductors, when they really should be insulators so the wire itself can stay electric."

William nodded, and as he approached the towering pole, the Colonel cut him off. "Why don't you demonstrate that, Miss Elric?" she asked.

"It's his project, his work. I can't take credit for it," Isabelle waved it off and watched as the brunette continued tweaking with the flaws on his theory, transmuting the metal poles into glass ones instead, transferring the metal within the poles to the wire. He repeated the process with the string, drawing little circles around the ropes and then transmuting until he had to take his hand off. He picked up the same stone and took a deep breath, then he handed it to the blonde.

"Here, you should have the honours of throwing it," William stated simply. Isabelle thought for a moment, then didn't protest, taking a few steps forward before tossing the rock at the wire. When it came into contact, it reacted in such a way there was only a small burst, then dust floated toward the ground, mixing together like ashes from a bonfire.

No mess, no residue, nothing else that came with a detonation – just ash.

There came a few mutters from the higher ranking officers, discussing various ways it could be used in combat. Then, it sparked an idea with Isabelle, her mind taking her to a whole new place – a place nobody else could reach.

"Now, Führer Grumman, if I may, I'd like to demonstrate," she asked. He nodded. She took a deep breath, then continued forward, "my name is Isabelle Elric, and I too have a new idea for a weapon that will greatly reduce any casualties on both sides."

Before she could continue, the same man that complained about her age stepped forward, once again trying to work against her, "If I may, sir, do we really think that a kid like her would be apt for the military?"

"Her father most certainly was," the General scoffed, flicking dust off the back of his gloves, "and she's so far proving herself more than capable."

"Well then, I'll just have to see for myself," he mumbled, then looked over at the girl. There was an unsettling feeling that carried in the air, as if the breeze had taken up the notation that something was wrong and it was trying to tell the people on the training grounds. It all started to seem slow – the man laced his hand to his back, tracing down his spine until he pulled a firearm out of the belt of his pants hidden behind his shirt. He quickly aimed it at Isabelle, "you killed my brother."

Her mind was racing, desperately thinking about who he was talking about. She had only killed one person, and it was that shapeshifting chimera. _That thing is this guy's brother?_ She didn't have time to think anymore, and she ran directly at the man. She wasn't going to run away. Not anymore.

It was clear that this was the reaction that he was most certainly not expecting, because he quickly fumbled around with his gun to fire, not expecting her to put up a fight. He must have been new, everybody knows that the Elrics don't go down without a fight.

Isabelle ran up on top of the glass pole that wrapped the wire, leaping off and using gravity to worsen her kick. Using her heel, she aimed directly at the man's head as she fell, rolling off of him when they hit the ground. By this point, the General was running after her, holding his gloves on his hand as he shortened the distance between himself and the scene. The other military leaders tried to keep up with him, but none could catch up to a military man that was on his way to go unleash his wrath on someone else that tried to take the life of someone he cared about. The Elric didn't let the man have a chance at even using the gun, as she kicked him onto his stomach, taking his pistol and wrenching his arm backwards, the firearm clicking directly behind his head. "If you make one movement I don't like," she growled in his ear, "You won't live long enough to fulfil the rest of the action."

"Isabelle, Isabelle listen to me. I've got him, get off," the General panted, gently prying her off of the man so that he could restrain him. Everybody else arrived shortly after the girl stood up on her feet, yanking the man up to his feet and forcing him inside, where they would take him to a holding cell until the proper time.

Feeling eyes on her, Isabelle looked around to find William staring at her with wide eyes that were coated with fear. She just shrugged, as if this was a completely normal occurrence, and simply asked him, "what?" Her voice was caked with an amicable hatred, to the point to where the rest of the people in the area weren't sure if she was supposed to be likable or if to steer clear of her; but one thing was for sure, they definitely weren't going to underestimate her.

It just wasn't smart to underestimate an Elric, especially if this particular Elric wasn't afraid of taking another man's life. Isabelle was about to take the Elric's reputation of being forgiving, and then change it to make the world fear that merciful name.

Let the world know.

* * *

"Brother, what if we won't be able to get out of here? What if we get out, only to find out everybody else is dead?"

His voice was worried, echoing in the room and bouncing off of his cell bars, a sob almost choked him, but he pushed it back down his throat. His arms strung up, forcing his hands apart and for the alchemist to be permanently on his knees.

"That isn't going to happen. Trust me. A time will come when we will have the opportunity to escape, and when that happens, we can go home."

His voice was determined, from the other side of the room in his own separate cell, his arms wrenched behind his back and latched onto the wall, but he had the luxury of sitting on his bottom.

The door opened.

"I gotta say, your kid's getting quite the popularity recently."

His voice was terrifying, a newspaper gently tucked under his arm.

"Leave my children out of this!"

His voice suddenly became angry.

"I would, if they didn't have so much potential."

He tossed the newspaper through the bottom of the bars, sliding it in front of him. The headline read: _"'DEAD AIM ALCHEMIST.' TO JOIN MILITARY MARCH 1."_ The article was simple, not even worthy of the front page, but it was mainly praising Isabelle for her smarts and how she had rightfully earned her place in the Investigations Department. It even mentioned how the Führer even talked of promoting her to be the Head of Investigations in a short time, depending on how fast she would be able to prove herself worthy of the position. It all depended on her performance, and based on the Elric reputation and how she seemed to already be fit for the role, they had big expectations for her to fill in. She wasn't anticipated to disappoint, so she wouldn't.

Simple as that.

"Brother, what does it say?"

His voice was scared, seeing the look on his brother's face when he read the newspaper article. It's rather hard to imagine being a father torn away from his wife and children, only to see his daughter in a newspaper article, doing the very thing he feared: work in the military.

She looked so different to him – it looked as though she had aged fifteen years in the five months they had been apart. Even in black and white her eyes still carried the blue flame, scorching the paper it flickered on. She wasn't smiling, she didn't look like she even wanted to attempt at a smile. No, she looked angry, like she had a bloodlust and rage that not even the homunculus could compete with her wrath.

 _But, why?_

"Speechless, I see."

His voice was cocky, watching his face reek with denial, like he didn't want to believe what he was seeing. But that was his daughter, alight. He knew it, he knew it, she knew it.

And yet he refused to believe it.

"Even if that is Isabelle like you expect me to believe, there's no way she'd be able to work for you."

He spat.

"Brother, what is it? What's going on?"

His voice was desperate.

"She won't have a choice. She and her brother killed one too many of my men to get away with it. They weren't even your average mercenaries, either, these were some of my better men! And they were shot to bits like they were food that wasn't even worth the hunt."

His voice was disappointed, disgusted, even, and he was half tempted to snatch the newspaper back, but decided otherwise. Let the picture torture him.

The words cut through them both and left them in a shattered silence. The thought of Isabelle joining the military was bad enough on him, but the fact that she and Marcus both have blood on their hands tore him apart. He didn't want to believe it.

He refused.

"Believe me all you want, but it seems to me that she has no shame in what she did. She never apologized, publicly anyway."

His voice was nonchalant.

"You're lying!"

His voice was a mixture of angry and desperate, clearly he was in denial about learning all this new information about his own children.

"Frankly, my dear boy, I am many things, but a liar is not one of them."

His voice was arrogant, taunting, and he seemed rather pleased with himself, boasting in pride. He just shrugged, walking back up the stairs and closing the metal door behind him, sealing it shut, leaving the two just how they were before he arrived, leaving them drowning in their own silence.

"It can't be true! Ed! Say something! Brother, say something! Anything!"

Alphonse yanked at his arms, desperate to pull himself out of the wall, even though he knew there was no way he could get himself out. They were stuck, and he knew this, but he wouldn't accept it. Not after what he heard.

Everything started to make sense about the picture to Edward; he could now see it in her eyes – why she refused to smile, why she looked so angry and why she looked like she had aged so much. It was because she did age, not physically but mentally. He could see it in nowhere else but her eyes.

When an outsider would look at her, they wouldn't see what he saw. They wouldn't look for a glisten that no longer existed in her eyes, because they never knew her back when the life would shine in her blue iris every time she would smile. They'd just see a girl that was stupid and reckless enough to sell herself away to the military, but terrifying enough to shoot down anybody that dared to stop her while she walked down her own path.

All because of a murder.

Just like those soldiers at Ishval, just like the people he had seen at Laboratory 5, just like his own children.

Roy would agree with him.

" _You have the eyes of a killer."_

* * *

I did it! Part of the reason why this was as long as it was is because I wanted to find a way to show Isabelle's slow improvement of her mental state, and I couldn't think of other ways to do it, so I found a shitty excuse to make people dance the Swing and the Charleston (I love those dances okay don't judge me). Also, to my Internet friends that knew me long enough to know my equally shitty roleplaying days: surprise! I bet you guys didn't expect to see William here after I said I removed him. But I found a place for him! Yay! Anyway, I really hoped you guys enjoyed reading this chapter, as I fairly enjoyed writing it. Thank you so much for reading, and now that it's summer, you can expect more soon!

-Elena


	10. Chapter Nine: For the People

WARNINGS FOR: Language, alcohol use, violence, sexual themes, death

Yes, I did change my username from theterriblefate to thebaehood – I did this to everything I could so that all my platforms were consistent with one another so it would be synced up with my YouTube channel (The Baehood). Quick note to all my phandom (Dan and  
Phil fans) members out there! If you want a break from this all serious story, I'd suggest you check out my phanfic "Bond" that I started. It's going to be fluffy stuff, so if that's what you're into, then go for it! Another thing, I mention ASMR in this fic, and while it may have been something that's only gotten recently popular, the whole fact of being lulled to sleep by sound triggers has been around for a while. The earliest source I could find was from the early 20s, and even then the idea of a mother singing her child to sleep has been around for ages. So I don't want any of you all complaining to me about how I'm not historically accurate – I do my homework. I just couldn't find another name to refer to this phenomenon, so what you see is basically what you get. But anyway! I finished! So, thank you guys so much for reading! I hope you enjoy it!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

 **For the People**

It was just her luck that Isabelle became a member of the Investigations Department just when they were stuck trying to solve a case that lead to nothing but cold trails. They were on the hunt for a murderer that targeted young men in their twenties and thirties.

They had no connections with anything else.

They did, however, all have a similar style as to how they were murdered. It was clear blades were used in the process, and that was all. There was no stabbings, no gun wounds, no other methods of torture used; just cuts and carves and slices all around their bodies as if their murderer was having fun with its victim's agony. It wasn't until recently when the killer's calling card was discovered: on the back of the victim's neck there would always be a smiley face, sliced into the flesh so delicately as if each one was its own work of art.

Because of this, the murderer had be named "The Smiley Face Killer."

Isabelle was scared – knowing that Marcus falls under the victim category made her extremely cautious whenever they were out in the open together. She had become so overprotective of him, just as the General was starting to become with her. She couldn't handle the thought of losing her brother to some psycho. Marcus didn't mind her game of twenty questions when he wanted to do something as mundane as go to an automail shop or to a bar. Recently, he had found one that was rather well hidden, and its target audience was others that shared his sexuality, so that they have a peaceful gathering place without having to worry about being caught and arrested by the military police. In fact, the military didn't know that this bar even existed in the first place. He understood why his sister was so concerned about his every movements, and so he played along just to humour her until they were certain this killer was caught.

The General made sure that Isabelle would always arrive and leave with him, so that way he knew she wasn't going to overwork herself and so that he knew where she was at all times. Since he was now her superior officer, she really couldn't argue with a direct order, even if she hated it with every centimetre of her being.

Which, wasn't a lot of centimetres.

It relieved Isabelle to know that she now had access to all sorts of private information she wouldn't have otherwise known in order to find her family. She didn't think about it at the time, but when she looked back on it, she found it rather ironic that her father joined the military to help him find leads so that he could get a Philosopher's Stone and return his and his brother's bodies back to normal, and now his daughter joined the military to help her find leads so that she could find Edward and Alphonse. With permission, she became in charge of the Elric Case, anything and everything that had to do with finding her family was given to her in a little file that only had empty leads. She was afraid the Elric Case would become cold, or that she would find them when it was too late. She wouldn't find out until much later.

It was the beginning of March in 1940, nearing Marcus's twentieth birthday and marking the start of a new age with the Mustang family; it was a change they won't know about until just a little later. Isabelle, however, had yet to hit puberty – no periods, no breasts, nothing of the sort yet. It was kind of a stun to the Lieutenant, recalling one of the first times she visited the Elrics as Marcus's voice was changing rather early; so she had expected a similar swiftness to his sister, since girls are much quicker to begin with. And yet, the Elric daughter found herself to be a late bloomer.

Isabelle didn't mind not seeing any changes to her body yet, and she preferred it to remain that way, in all honesty. She hated the idea of having to take special care of herself every month all because she disagreed with her body wanting a baby.

In time.

Because of the recent addition to the military, the Lieutenant could now attend her duties without being dismissed by the General so that she could take care of the Elric children. Normally, Marcus would meet his sister home after his apprenticeship, but due to recent circumstances, he also had to stay at the headquarters until he could leave with his sister and the Mustangs. Marcus was legal, sure, but even then his sister suddenly had more authority over him due to her position (albeit, not that high of a position) in the military, and she wasn't afraid to take full advantage of it.

"Well, then what the hell am I supposed to do until you guys are done?" Marcus had asked the first time he found out he was ordered not to leave until he was dismissed.

"I dunno, maybe, _read_?" Isabelle had snapped in response, taking a slight jab at how he chose to be a "grease monkey" as she called him rather than a bookworm. "Now, I don't mean to be rude, but could you leave me alone? I'm trying to work on this case."

Everybody in Investigations was trying to find the identity of the Smiley Face Killer. It was one of their more serious cases, and every idea that Isabelle seemed to have in regards to another connection with the victims lead to nothing but shaking heads and one victim that wasn't like the others. It was infuriating.

That is, until the killer got sloppy.

It was another male, in his twenties, just as the rest, with the same smiley face on the back of his neck, but this time, Isabelle noticed something new on the body. The blood wasn't uncommon on all of the victims, but there seemed to be more that flushed a deeper red in-between the victim's legs, similar to the way a girl would stain her clothes on her period. Upon closer inspection, Isabelle, along with the rest of the Investigations Department, found that the genitals had been removed. To be specific, they looked as though they had been twisted off.

"Check the other victims," demanded Lieutenant Colonel Russell Fletcher, the Head of Investigations, his voice muffled by the dust mask everybody had to wear at crime scenes. "We may be able to find a lead if they all have this same injury. Except you, Elric. You're staying here with me."

The General had made things very clear to the Lieutenant Colonel about having Isabelle in his department. He didn't give him any specific orders about her or anything, but he did suggest to use her in cases as an absolute last resort, and he did give him a warning: "if anything bad happens to her because of you, I'll make sure you feel every flame."

Ever since then, any lingering thought of sending her to do any dirty work had been swiftly yanked from his mind. Isabelle was pretty sure why the Lieutenant Colonel was so protective of her, but she didn't say anything about it, as she was grateful enough to have even earned her position in the military.

She didn't know why they chose "Dead Aim" for her out of all things, since her aim with weapons were actually quite terrible (apart from that gunshot that killed the shapeshifting chimera, but she couldn't think clearly to focus on her aim, making her believe she only has decent aim while hyped up with adrenaline). She thought for a while, and couldn't come up with any conclusions as to why she had been given that name. It wasn't until she asked the General when he finally was able to put rest to her thoughts that buzzed with confusion.

"You don't fire a warning shot," he had told her, "you just aim to kill them, whether you make the shot or not. It's like that old saying of 'shoot first and ask questions later,' it applies to you."

It won't be until later that "Dead Aim" will have two meanings to it.

"What do you think the connection would be if they all did have this same injury, Lieutenant Colonel?" Isabelle asked him while they waited for the paramedics to arrive.

"It could mean a number of different things, it all just depends on what else we can find about each of the victims," he thought out loud, loud enough for her to hear what he was thinking. And he was absolutely right. "Say, Dead Aim, the General told me you won't be coming on Wednesday. Why is that?"

"That's the twentieth, right? Marcus, my older brother, that's his birthday," she replied simply. She had already found time to buy his gift, which she had spent quite some time saving money for it. But she knew he had been wanting it for a while – the way he'd always pause when he'd pass it by in the windows and the way he'd fiddle around, wanting to feel it there. It was pricey, she had to admit, but she was thankful that she bought it in time.

"Really? How old's he turning?" the Lieutenant Colonel asked, with no real particular interest, but he did want to make small talk to get to know her, so that way there wasn't an uncomfortable sense in the air from being next to a corpse.

"Twenty, sir," Isabelle said. She didn't necessarily like discussing personal matters with her colleagues at the military – she didn't really like talking at all – but she did it out of respect and for the sake of learning to tame that damn Resembool accent. She had gotten much better at hiding it, most wouldn't have been able to guess that she was from the south side, much less cattle country, but there was that occasional slip up that everybody pretended to ignore. They also didn't have the heart to tell her that she would still have a twang on her "a," "i," and "y" sounds, which was something she wouldn't ever be able to shake off.

"Tell him my regards," he told her, and she nodded. She heard a car stop behind her; turning her head, she saw that the paramedics had arrived. She watched as they covered the corpse with a shroud, carefully scooped up the body, and carried it into the back of the vehicle.

As they carried it to the back, one of the men gently bumped into Isabelle, making her lose her balance for a moment.

"Sorry, doll," he said. This man's looks were charming, his voice smooth and suave, and his mannerisms deemed him to be practically irresistible, almost snake-like. He smiled warmly at the girl.

Isabelle was mesmerised by this man with burgundy hair and flawless features, too entranced by his voice to even respond, until she had to practically shake herself out of her temporary hypnosis to wave it off. The men resumed carrying the body, and the girl watched as she saw a small picture slip from the victim's corpse, gently floating to the ground and leaking into the puddle of blood it had left behind. She adjusted her latex gloves, and bent down, careful not to let her knees touch the ground. She could feel the heat from her breath bounce off the dust mask and gently caress her lips, a feeling she would be haunted by in years to come. She took a pair of tweezers and gently pried the photograph from the puddle of blood, turning to face the Lieutenant Colonel, "I need a bag."

He dug through a kit he had off to the side, opening a plastic bag for her; she set the photo inside of the bag and sealed it shut, handing him the tweezers and examined the picture closely. It was of the victim and a young woman who looked around his age, both merry and joyful while sat together at a dining table.

"Is that his girlfriend, do you think?" Fletcher asked her, peeking over her shoulder to look at the contents of the photo, and she shook her head.

"No, that's his sister," Isabelle replied. They looked too much alike – now, that couldn't rule out the girlfriend possibility, but–

"–But look at how he's looking at her, he clearly loves her. What makes you think they're related, even though he's looking at her like that?"

She took a deep breath, watching closely to try to determine where she had seen that look before. It wasn't the look Edward would give to Winry when she would gently hum to herself as she peeled apples, it wasn't the look Alphonse would give to May when she wasn't looking. It had nothing to do with Thomas, either. Loving someone didn't have to necessarily be romantic. Besides, she wouldn't have known – she never had a boyfriend in her life. She didn't really have crushes or feel sexual attraction, either, but she pretended she did so that way she felt normal. Then she remembered, feeling a pang in her heart and a heaviness in her soul, she remembered where she had seen it. "Because," Isabelle swallowed hard, "because that's the look Marcus would give me."

* * *

"Another one?"

Isabelle nodded, and she watched as Marcus shift uncomfortably in his seat, trying to think about any connections. He had been dismissed from his apprenticeship, and he chose to go to the public library to sketch out new Automail designs. Isabelle learned the time of when he would be dismissed and requested to take her lunch breaks at that time so she could spend some time with her brother. He glanced up from his design and watched as she took a bite of a small sandwich she had packed for herself. "Was it Smiley Face?"

She nodded again, and as she spoke, she gently rubbed on the back of her neck, "he had the mark."

"Damn," he paused, doing a quick mental count in his head, "that's the fourth one this week so far. You'd think Investigations could find something, anything!"

"We are, but it's a slow progression," she sighed. Her arms stopped halfway through raising her sandwich to her mouth, and she lowered it back onto her plate, her appetite lost as she remembered the picture. "This one had a sister, Marcus."

He looked up at her again, this time lowering his pencil, sensing in her tone how close this one hit to home. He didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry," she let go of what little food she had left and shivered a little in her seat. She remembered the bright light on her birthday, the bright light that came through her door just as the sun fell. "I don't want to lose you."

"Oh, Izzy," Marcus said, his voice saddened, but oddly like his mother's. He pushed his chair out and stood, opening his arms, "Come here." She didn't say anything, except just run into the comfort of her big brother, resting her head against his chest, standing as tall as she could so she could place her ear as close as she could get to his heart.

And she could still hear it beating.

* * *

Marcus's twentieth birthday was the first celebration to take place since Isabelle's fourteenth (disregarding the New Year, which wasn't much of a celebration at all). Marcus was the first to wake up, earlier than his sister as usual, lumbering down the stairs to be greeted with the Lieutenant and the General both trying their hardest to muster up a dish that was edible.

He didn't say anything, but he grinned as he walked past the two huddled by the stove, reaching into the cabinet, grabbing his favourite chocolate cereal and pouring himself a bowl. He sat at the bar that separated the kitchen from the dining room as he ate, watching them fumble around and argue about how much heat should go into the strip of sausage. "Mornin'," he said simply. They turned to face the source of the sound, and the General groaned when he saw that they weren't successful in their attempt at breakfast.

"Whatever happened to that cookbook you were using a while back?" Marcus asked.

"Hell if I know," Roy sighed, batting his eyes over towards the Lieutenant who shot a glare at him in response. Clearly, she was the last person that was involved with said cookbook, and that was the last of it.

"Well, _sir,_ " Riza growled, cutting open the sausage to see if it was fully cooked. She went to continue her response, but her words got caught in her throat, as if she had been punched in the gut and all of the words had been yanked from her tongue. She trembled, holding her hand over her mouth and completely disregarding the food in front of her – if anything, it made her feel worse. She pushed past the General and dashed up the stairs to the bathroom by the master bedroom.

There was a pause, then Marcus chuckled, "just the thought of your cooking made her sick."

"Oh, ha, ha," the General gave him a look, his tone dripping with the most sincere form of sarcasm. His eyes drifted, looking toward the direction of where the Lieutenant went, trying to think as to why she could have been sick. His mind flooded with worry – she hadn't eaten anything bad, nor was she around anything she might have an allergy to, which left only one possibility: she caught a virus. "Is she going to be alright?"

"It's probably just a bug," Marcus shrugged, taking another scoop of cereal onto his spoon. "Don't worry about it, it happens all the time. She'll throw it up, then she'll be fine. Just watch."

In the meantime, Isabelle had woken up to the sound of the Lieutenant's nausea in the bathroom. Sluggishly, she rolled herself out of bed and shuffled towards the direction of the sound. She stopped at the doorway and knocked on it gently, "are you alright, ma'am?"

"This is definitely not a bug," the sick one moaned, holding her hair to one side so that nothing got in it while she vomited.

"Is it something you ate?"

"I haven't eaten anything yet, Izzy."

"Did you catch something?"

She shook her head, then felt something rise in her stomach. Immediately, she turned her head back to the toilet bowl and gagged.

"May I ask you something, ma'am? It's a bit vulgar," Isabelle had always been trying to watch her mouth around adults, since she did have an awful habit of saying the worst things at the worst times. But the difference is between her co-workers and the Lieutenant was simple: she was actually afraid of upsetting the Lieutenant. She respected her authorities, for the most part, but the Lieutenant always struck her as someone that shouldn't be pushed to her limits. The General was another one of those people, but she felt more comfortable acting like herself around him – like her father.

When the Lieutenant nodded, Isabelle paused. She inhaled sharply, then she spoke with her exhale, "Do you still have periods, ma'am?"

She nodded glancing at the alchemist with one eyebrow raised, almost asking her where she was getting at with the question. Before she had a chance to ask, the Elric spoke over her thoughts.

"When was the last time you slept with the General?"

"I sleep with him every night, Izzy. I have been since you guys came–"

"Not like that."

Silence rung throughout the small bathroom, and the Lieutenant thought for a moment. She knew what the younger girl was trying to say, and she didn't believe it. She was never able to have a child, and so the very thought of it shocked her, to say the least. "I'm not pregnant." She was adamant in her answer; she and the General have tried time and time again and it just never happened. The very thought was impossible.

"You don't know that. I'm just saying, I'd check if I were you." Isabelle said nothing more, then she turned on heel, walking down the steps to be greeted with a plate of burnt sausage and over easy eggs. She glanced at Marcus, wanting to ask if it was edible, but found that he hadn't eaten what she had at all.

His eyes met hers, and she saw that Look again – the one that she saw in the photograph. She quickly looked away back at her food and began to eat. "I have to admit," Isabelle confessed with a mouth that carried food stuffed to one side so she could speak. "For not having a cookbook to tell you what to do, this isn't too bad." She thought of her mother's cooking, from the extravagant apple pies to even the simple lamb chops that she would serve for dinner. It saddened her to know that she would never be able to eat something like that ever again, but it depressed her to remember why that she would never be able to even see Winry ever again.

She wanted to kill every last one of those people that were responsible for her murder. Those people that worked with the shapeshifting chimera – she was going to make them pay.

Isabelle turned back to face Marcus, remembering why she was able to sleep in in the first place, "happy birthday."

He chuckled, ruffling the hair that sat atop her head, watching it scribble itself around like a toddler with a colouring book, "thanks, Izzy."

"So," the General spoke with a fake cough to get their attention, "what was it that you guys would do on each other's birthdays?"

"Just pass out gifts and eat cake, really. If we wanted to do anythin' else, like go to the lake to swim or something, we did. Sometimes friends came over, sometimes not, it all depended on what we all wanted to do," Marcus told him. He knew that Thomas never really had large birthday parties, either. He did, however, always go to the Elrics' house after one in the afternoon to celebrate there for the rest of the day. He never explained why he didn't like to stay home while both of his parents were at the house together, but Marcus would find out eventually, on the times he'd visit and hear the adults spew nothing but hate toward each other. Birthdays were always so simple – about the only time they were over-the-top was on the fourteenth birthday, and nobody was turning fourteen anymore.

"On Mama and Papa's birthdays, we'd go to Xing," Isabelle added, "to spend it with Alphonse and May–"

Her sentence stopped short, her lips still parted, her eyes widening.

 _May!_

After all this time, she never really thought of her aunt in that much detail. It was more of a passing thought, really, like a glance when one would walk around another, sometimes there was the double-take in recognition, other times it would slip through their eyes. Now, her mind just took a double-take, a double thought, sinking in the memory, knowing the existence of one more person in her life that she had completely forgotten to protect.

"Isabelle, what's wrong?" her brother looked at her, concern in his eyes.

"Marcus, May wasn't with us on my birthday," she spoke slowly, her voice shocked and her hands trembling. The General was watching them both intensely, worried about what they could be thinking.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He thought about what she said for a brief moment, then his face started to mimic hers, and his tongue forced the words that Isabelle couldn't say. "Was she taken, too? Is she dead, too?"

Tears welled in Isabelle's eyes, but they weren't from sadness. She smiled as the drops of water ran down her cheeks, "No, Marcus. That would have been all over the news, just like how we were for that whole week. Marcus! Do you know what that means?"

It all hit them so fast. It was probably the best news they had heard since Isabelle's birthday. He started to laugh, starting at small chuckles, his eyes filled with tears, rushing down the side of his face as he laughed. He leaned back in his chair, running his hands through his hair as his laughter grew with intensity and volume.

The happiest thought they could have had in months fluttered through their minds, connecting them both, and in that moment, their minds were the same. Isabelle leapt off her seat and tackled Marcus to the ground, holding him as tightly as she could, his arms clenching around his sister as the same thought ran through their mind over and over again. He didn't feel any pain from the fall, neither did she, their hearts so full they would have exploded – the only thing they felt was joy. Joy and relief.

The General watched, a warm smile on his face. All he wanted was to see these kids happy once again, to have something to drive their determination. All he wanted was a foundation for them to stand on their feet again, to give them a platform that wasn't dead air. And here it was: the foundation they needed.

 _May's perfectly alive! May's perfectly fine!_

"Well," the General concluded, making his way to the steps to go tell the Lieutenant the wonderful news. He knew they only had one day off for this birthday, but he was sure to make it worth something. "Get dressed. We're going to Xing."

There was a hole where their hearts lied, and this alone had sewn something back into place, this alone repaired that broken framework that was only held together by each other. And there it was, the moment when life stopped taking things from them and decided to give them something back.

Just this once, everybody was happy.

Everybody was fine.

* * *

Nobody would have seen anybody so excited to get on a train before. While they boarded, Isabelle couldn't help but ask herself a question that has been nagging her since she first remembered her aunt.

 _Why didn't she try to come to see us?_

She knew that May loved her and her brother, but it worried her to know that she didn't even make an attempt to at least call to see if they were alright. The whole damn country knew that the Elric children were taken in by the General, and it was a miracle that nobody had tried to raid the Estate yet to take the kids if they were wanted by this group so badly. Thankfully.

But it left her wondering, her aunt surely knew Isabelle's situation. Why hasn't she tried to contact her, or her brother for that matter? She knew May wasn't taken or killed either, as she had concluded earlier; so what was the reason? Did she just not care?

Either way, Isabelle didn't care if May didn't really love her – she just wanted to see someone, _anyone,_ that was family. The General and the Lieutenant were family, too, but they weren't as close to the Elric children back then as they are now. May, however, may not have been related by blood either, but she was about to be married in; not to mention she was much closer to the Elrics.

Either way, she just wanted to see her aunt.

The train ride wasn't long, neither was the arrival to Xing nor the arrival to the Chang clan. What would be long, however, was the wait between the arrival and actually seeing May. The moment one of them (which, looking back Isabelle believed to have been the General) asked about May Chang, they were immediately bombarded at every angle with weapons drawn. Needless to say, everybody was prepared for an ambush on the seventeenth princess.

Isabelle and the rest didn't know what to do at this point, so they slowly raised their arms in a surrender, but the weapons weren't lowered. Her eyes scanned around each individual, recognising a couple of the faces as guards from the palace, but they seemed to be in disguise. It made her wonder.

"What's your business with Princess Chang?" one of them asked, stepping forward toward the General, a sword tip hovering over his Adam's apple. Everybody else was on the verge of counter-acting, but they were more afraid of the consequences than just a threat that could possibly remain empty if they cooperated.

"She's my aunt," Marcus interrupted, feeling Isabelle slowly reach her hand over to him and gently start to tap on his arm in a pattern they had learned together. Morse code.

 _Marcus, shut the fuck up before you get us all killed._

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, then the guard made his way toward the tall blonde and aimed his sword at him. "What is your name?"

"Marcus Elric, sir," the words on his teeth were seething, his eyes practically glaring a hole through him enough to intimidate him. It did, however, spark a recognition in him as he waved his hand downward as a gesture for everyone to lower their weapons, and so they did.

"Elric, you said?" He nodded. "Come with me."

Following the guard in silence was uncomfortable on its own, but it got even worse when they would receive lingering stares as they walked past the civilians. What the hell had to have happened to make them so prepared?

At the gates to the palace, they were guided in and taken directly not to May Chang, but to their emperor sitting on his throne, a bodyguard wearing an intimidating mask was hiding behind him. The emperor had a table placed in front of him with various papers on it, and he was studying it intently.

"Emperor Ling," the General said, watching the young man grin and stand from his throne, meeting the older man with a handshake. "It's been some time, but we weren't here for you."

"I know," Ling shrugged it off. Isabelle had met this man only once while she and her brother would visit Xing, but her memory of him was hazy. One thing was for sure, he definitely seemed a lot goofier back then than he does now. "Everybody that requested to see my little sister has to come here. Shortly after the Elrics were ambushed there was an attack on her clan. Thankfully, we got her out safely and I ordered her to go into hiding. Anybody that wants to see her has to be approved by me before they're escorted to her."

There became a relief among the people there, knowing that everything was fine and that she was alright. And to the kids, they were happy to know that she didn't stop loving them. Before the General could even respond or before the Lieutenant could make some comment under her breath, Isabelle's words trampled overtop both of them with ease, "So, she's alright?"

Ling glanced over behind the adults to see both Elric children, much more grown up than when he last saw them. He couldn't help but smile to himself and let out a soft chuckle through his nose, "Wow, did you two get old." He simply nodded at the girl to answer her question and redirected his attention to the General, where his smile quickly faded. "I'll take you all to go see her."

"My imperial majesty," the voice that spoke came from the guard in the mask behind the throne. It was a female's voice, for sure, albeit muffled, it sounded stern. It had that kind of sternness a mother would have when she would be afraid to let her child run outside and play after she had just bandaged them up for hurting themselves on the sticks and stones. "Do you really believe that it's wise to do that?"

"Lan Fan, you know these people. You know they are good people," he looked back towards her, almost offended by what she had said.

"I know, and you're correct in those statements," she took a few steps forward, stopping once she was practically behind the emperor again. "But I do recall seeing in the paper that the Elric daughter was recently attacked while she was performing her practical alchemy exam in order to join the military. These kids are still very much wanted by this group, and for all we know, they're probably being watched as we speak."

Isabelle shifted her attention around the room, not wanting to listen to adults bicker over things she found to be rather petty. Her eyes traced every corner of the room until she saw a paper that sat on the table in front of the throne. Five letters on the page caught her eyes, and her body began to walk without her brain processing what she was basically trespassing.

 _Elric._

"Isabelle! Isabelle!" Marcus tried to shout for her in a hushed whisper, not wanting to take the adults' attention, but he didn't want her to get in trouble either. He couldn't see what his sister saw, as he couldn't see far away, but he knew it had to have had some importance to drag her toward the table without permission. The adults could hear him, anyway.

"You aren't the only one looking for your family."

Isabelle turned her head to find Ling right behind her, then she looked back at the papers that were scattered throughout the table.

"You guys don't have much to work with, either," she mumbled, her voice saddened and hopeless. At this point, she was genuinely starting to believe that she would never get to see her father or her uncle ever again.

Ling picked up on the girl's tone, and he gestured for the rest of the group to follow him as he walked past his throne, pulling back the curtains to reveal a stone wall. "Come on, I'll take you to go see May."

"I don't know what kind of magic you use," Marcus said, "but I can't walk through walls."

The emperor grinned, then he pushed on one of the centre stones, watching the wall shift backwards and to the side, revealing a small, narrow tunnel that was lit by lanterns whenever the distance would make the area too dark. He turned his head back to face the Elric boy, "What was it your father always said? 'If you can't find a door, make your own?'"

They followed him down the path, making careful sure to follow him closely and carefully, as there had been many times where the paths would diverge into multiple sections, some of them were even rigged up with traps. Time felt slow, especially to the Elric children, waiting for the time they can finally see their aunt was one of the longest waits of their lives. Isabelle clutched onto her locket tightly, reminding herself not to look at the photos, since she was about to go to the real thing.

Finally, Ling stopped at a door, then he knocked gently. A top section of the door slid open and eyes peeked through the hole. The person that spoke behind it had a voice that made it difficult to distinguish gender, age, or even nationality; but one thing was certain about this voice was that they meant business. "Emperor Ling? Who are these people?"

"May's relatives and their legal guardians."

The section slid back into place, covering the hole up and there became odd sounds from behind the door. Many of which were clinks and various tapping sounds. A couple of those tapping sounds sent tingles down Isabelle's spine, and it seemed her brother had felt the same way, as he shivered just slightly. By this point, she was aware that her brother was the one taking her from that branch in a tree outside back into her bedroom at the General's Estate, but she still wasn't aware of the sounds he'd make that would trigger her into a sleepy, trance-like state. It wouldn't be until she read a new book on alkahestry in her old age when she'd discover why these sounds were intoxicating to her. The book had referred to it as an  
"Auditory-tactile synaesthesia," but another source had called it "Autonomous sensory meridian response," or ASMR for short.

The door opened, and it seemed that this area was a whole other wing of the castle that May had all to herself, and it made her wonder if Ling sealed off this part of the palace just so that he could hide his little sister with peace. If Isabelle had thought about it, she might have had Marcus stay there until the Smiley Face Killer was caught.

Ling guided them in, blowing out the torch and hanging it on the wall, and he called out for the princess. "May," he yelled out, and said nothing more, wanting it to be a surprise that her family had come. There was silence, and then he tried once more, "May!"

"What is it, Ling?" May's voice grew gradually louder as they heard her walk down a hallway to the direction of where she was called. She made her way into the open area, braiding a section of her hair, expecting only the two people that would normally come. Instead, she saw the children first.

It happened all at once, and all so fast. The princess had dropped her hair from her hands and sprinted to the Elrics, and they ran at her too, all three of them calling for each other and screaming with joy. Isabelle was the first one to collide with May, holding her as firmly as possible, the daughter being only a head shorter than the princess. May held both arms around the girl until Marcus had collided with the two girls, where May took one hand off Isabelle's back and wrapped it around the back of Marcus's neck. He had to bend over to hug her, too, but it didn't matter; in a matter of seconds they were a pile of bodies kneeling on the floor and holding each other so tightly – almost as if one of them would float away if they didn't hold them this way.

There wasn't much discussion at first, other than the "I love you"s, "I miss you"s and the "I was so worried about you"s. There was the occasional "I'm so happy that you're safe/okay/alright/not dead." One of them even said that they were afraid that they were never going to see the others again. Other than that, there was no other dialogue, just tightly held comfort, immense joy, and many, many shed tears.

Not much was done after they dried their eyes, mainly they all sat together and caught up on each other's lives after the incident on Isabelle's fourteenth. Nothing much had changed for May after she had been taken into hiding, and she told them the new daily routine that she had to learn to live with. She hated being cooped up in an area for longer than a few hours, much less a few months. For those moments, the family had almost completely forgotten about why they were even there in the first place, and the smiles on their faces almost seemed genuine.

"Now, Marcus, it's your twentieth, correct? Happy birthday," May asked him after a brief moment of silence. He nodded in response and said his thanks, which made her sit back and think for a moment. "I haven't been able to leave the palace since I came here, so I couldn't have gotten you a present. But, I'll make sure to have one of my guards go out and get you something."

He shook his head, "Don't worry about it. Seeing you was a present enough."

Isabelle's ears perked up, and she tapped on her brother's shoulder to get his attention. He looked over at her to see what she wanted, and she told him, "Remind me to give you your present that I got you when we get back to the Estate."

"I told you don't get me anything."

"And I told you I don't give a shit."

When it was dusk, the family had to part ways. Nobody wanted to go, nobody wanted to leave the other one behind, but they knew that they didn't have all the time in the world. If they did, they'd never leave.

"Promise me you'll write," May told the two, prompting an enthusiastic nod in return from each child. She hugged them one last time, before she pulled away and smiled sadly at the children, "please, promise me you'll be safe." There was a long pause before the two nodded again, with much less enthusiasm this time.

They knew they weren't safe.

* * *

It was a little bit past midnight when everybody returned to the Mustang Estate. They were exhausted, their movements lethargic and their bodies moved in a lazy, sluggish way, almost as if they were dragging themselves along the floor like zombies. Even Isabelle, the night owl herself, was starting to yawn.

Marcus started to force his legs to move up the steps to his room before his sister stopped him with a tug on his shirt, "Wait a second, before you go to sleep, I have to give you your present."

"Make it quick, please," he groaned as he plopped himself onto the couch and rested his head on his arm, using it as a kickstand.

As Isabelle ran upstairs to fetch for the gift, the General presented him with a small envelope, "it's from me, but it was the Lieutenant's idea."

When he opened the card, there wasn't much written inside except for the stereotypical happy birthday messages and the cheesy pun that was on the card itself. But, within the card, fell a ticket to his favourite automail shop. This ticket allowed him to buy whatever he wanted without having to fork over any cenz, since it said the supplies were for the military automail and signed by the General himself. It wasn't a complete lie, but it wasn't the complete truth either. It was yet another lukewarm statement, but it allowed him unlimited access to supplies at one of the most prestigious automail shops in Central. Marcus, needless to say, was beyond shocked and beyond grateful.

"Just don't tell them that you use it for personal projects, too," the General winked as he made his way upstairs, "happy birthday."

As the Mustangs made their way up the steps, Isabelle dashed down past them, a small box in her hands and her face beaming with excitement. She threw herself down onto the couch next to her brother and practically shoved the box in his face, "this is from me."

Marcus chuckled, unwrapping the tiny bow that held the box together and removed the lid. When he looked in, he saw a pair of stainless steel ear studs and a pair of stainless steel ear cuffs that came with the set, similar to what Winry wore. He had always wanted to wear earrings, and would often fiddle around with his earlobes, longing to feel something there, but he never had the time nor the money to go out and buy a pair and to get his ears pierced. He looked at his sister, his eyes wide, "this is the exact set I wanted too, how did you know I wanted this? This is incredible!"

"I saw you practically drool over this pair at this shop, so I saved up," Isabelle smiled, excited to see them on his ears. "You can get your ears pierced tomorrow after you're dismissed from your apprenticeship training, I already paid for you appointment."

He stared at them for a moment, smiling, then looked back at his sister and pet her head. He pulled her close to him and kissed her forehead, smiling at her with loving eyes, "Thanks, Izzy. I love them." He stood up, slowly making his way around the couch towards the steps.

"Hey, who knows? Maybe you can wear them to that secret special bar that you go to all the time to help impress a special someone there," she shrugged, sitting up and leaning on the back of the couch to talk to him, her arms folded on the top of the seats.

This prompted a small laugh out of her brother, and he looked back at her, seeing the innocence left in her eyes. "It's just a gay bar," he shook his head, trying to sugar-coat his words, "people mainly go there to drink without havin' to worry about acting straight and to have a good time. Sometimes, they go there to hook up with someone."

"Gross," Isabelle gagged slightly. "Why are people so into that? I don't get it. It's nothin' special and I never understood how people feel lust or sexual desire. I don't feel it."

"You know, there's a word for people like you, Izzy," he informed her nonchalantly. "They're asexual."

"Is there a word for people that don't feel romantic attraction either?" Now she was starting to get curious. She always thought she had been a freak for not feeling those things, but to think that she wasn't just an outcast…

"Aromantic," Marcus said. He thought for a moment, before he asked, "So you're an aromantic asexual?"

"I guess," Isabelle told him. "I mean, I want to settle down with someone and have kids, sure, but I don't want to have sex and I don't want to act all lovey-dovey with them like couples have to."

"Couples don't have to act lovey-dovey," he said. He almost sounded like an educator, and he most certainly knew what he was talking about. "Just marry your best friend and adopt some kids. That'll satisfy your needs."

Isabelle's heart fluttered, her eyes brightened and her smile grew, "That sounds perfect! I'm so glad I have a brother that accepts me for who I am. You're the best. Thank you, Marcus."

He smiled softly, and held up his box in the air for a brief moment before he began to walk up the steps, "no, Isabelle, thank you."

To this day, Isabelle still didn't know what that specific thank you was for.

* * *

"They found another one," the Lieutenant Colonel groaned as he hung up the phone, standing from his desk and looking at the rest of the individuals in the Investigations department, all sat at their little desks. "They found another body."

"Was it Smiley Face again?" Diana Payne, a detective in her mid-thirties, asked, already knowing the answer. He just nodded in defeat.

Before Isabelle could stand up to leave with everyone to go investigate, the door opened, and one of the other detectives stepped in. This one was that same boy from the practical exam, William Targensen. He was mainly used to go out and conduct interviews, as he was a smooth talker and he was easily able to shift one's emotions around just by his word choice and tone of voice. "Sir, I just finished talking to the last victim's sister, and she said the last place he went to was a bar, at least that's what he told her. Other relatives from other victims have mentioned a bar too, but not all of them. Some of them didn't know. I think this killer is targeting these men at bars during the night."

Isabelle's blood ran cold, remembering where her brother would go later in the evenings – a bar the military doesn't know about, even – made her wonder if he was going to be next. She didn't want to think about it.

"Then go to all the bars in town and ask around, see if they recognise any of the victims," Fletcher told him. "I'll let you know the details on this new victim after we investigate."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, _another_ one?" William sighed. The Lieutenant Colonel only nodded, and then the newer detective turned and exited the door again, this time to isolate a location for the murder victims.

Only this time, when he came back with the report, none of the bartenders have reported seeing any of the victims, and that's when Isabelle knew.

"The Smiley Face Killer is targeting homosexuals."

Everyone in Investigations turned to face the young detective, curious about her explanation. She had to be careful not to mention her brother, or else they were fucked. She continued to elaborate, "These people were last seen at a bar, correct? But at all the bars here in Central, none have reported seeing any of the victims. That has to mean that either one of the bartenders were lying or that they went to a secret bar that none of us know about: A gay bar."

They all thought for a moment, and everything started to make sense. They were growing with excitement, knowing they were gaining on the Smiley Face Killer made them overjoyed that they might catch him. As for Isabelle, however, she was terrified.

The killer was one step closer to her brother.

* * *

That night, Isabelle went with her brother to this gay bar that the killer often resided, careful to hide her pocket watch and her pistol, holding the pictures of each victim in a pocket in her jacket. She wore that jacket everywhere as often as she could, the red one with the flamel she got for her birthday. It reminded her of Edward.

When they opened the door, they were immediately welcomed by the others there, especially by those that knew Marcus. "Who's that you got with you, Rudy?" they asked.

 _Rudy?_ Isabelle asked by tapping on his arm in Morse code, switching between fingers in mid-tap so that it wouldn't be obvious there was a code. It would look like a worried habit if anyone were to see them.

His response was simple: _everybody knows who Marcus and Isabelle Elric are. I'm playing it safe._

 _Thank you,_ Isabelle tapped back.

"My little sister, Liesel," he said as he pulled her close to his side, careful to make sure she doesn't wander off. If anything, that's what she felt like doing to him. "Don't worry, she knows about me and she won't tell anyone. She just wanted to see what I do every night. She's a big worrywart, you know?"

Other men in the bar just laughed, nodding in agreement and holding their drinks in the air. "Why don't you and Liesel come and have a drink with us? Is she legal?"

"She's going to turn fifteen in October, so yes, she's legal," he just smiled oddly and nodded, guiding her to sit with him at the bar. Playing along with her innocent charade, Isabelle practically climbed onto the bar stool, leaning forward slightly and clutching onto the rung closest to her on the seat.

"Rudy mentioned that you were a worrywart? Why so frightened, dear?" the bartender asked as he placed two shot glasses in front of the two. Before Marcus could protest about the price shots would escalate to be, he was cut off by liquor being poured into each glass. "Don't worry, it's on the house."

With a quick nod of gratitude, Isabelle noticed that the Bartender's eyes were on her, anticipating an answer out of her. She swallowed, preparing to speak, then shook her head, looking at her brother desperately, knowing that he could hide something better than she could. She didn't even have to tap on his arm for him to just know.

 _My accent!_

Now, the accent wasn't much of a problem in the workplace or in her social life like she had thought it would be. It did, however, interfere with her undercover work. If anyone were to know that she was from Resembool, it wasn't the end of the world, but it would it most certainly blow her cover if they realised she wasn't around here like she would try to come across being.

Marcus took his shot with ease, then he leaned forward towards the Bartender, his voice lowering, "It's those murders happening 'round here. Word on the street says the victims were last said to be at a bar, and it's making her wonder if it's this one."

The Bartender quickly glanced around the room as he wiped up a glass, eyeing each person suspiciously before leaning back toward the Elric boy, "The Smiley Face Killer?"

Isabelle immediately felt eyes on her.

Marcus nodded in response, ignoring his sister's desperate tapping on his arms. "Yeah, that one. I fall directly into his target audience." Shakily, the detective retreated her fingers, slowly turning her head behind her to see where the feeling was coming from, but couldn't find anybody. She turned back, then quickly downed her shot. She had never had any form of alcohol once in her life since she turned fourteen, much less whiskey. Immediately, she felt the drink burn down her oesophagus, setting fire in her stomach and turning her tongue into lava rocks. Her eyes watered, and it took everything in her to keep from coughing, much less to hold a straight face throughout the duration of her shot.

She'd learn to adapt to it.

"Damn, she takes it like a champ," one of the men commentated, gesturing to the girl. Their comments were easily ignored by the three at the bar.

The Bartender continued, "Where the hell did you hear they were last at bars? How would you even know that information?" He looked genuinely concerned by now, to think that his little safe haven for those who preferred the same sex was quickly becoming a gold mine for serial killer victims was overwhelming.

"I read it in the paper this morning," Marcus lied.

That's when the Bartender eyed him accusingly, his entire demeanour changing when they all quickly realised he called their bluff. "That wasn't in the paper this morning." He looked over at Isabelle, his eyes scanning her up and down a few times before asking, "You're name's not Liesel, is it?" She just stared at him. No words were spoken between the two until he asked once more, "Who are you, really?"

Dead Aim felt the room go quiet, all eyes on her now. She weighed her options, then she made the bold move, the one that would prove her point and get it across in their thick skulls. She reached into her pocket, pulled out her pocket watch and slammed it onto the counter, prompting various gasps of horror in the room.

There was a pause. She heard a man cry out, "she's military!" before standing and trying to make his way towards the door. The State Alchemist took the gun from her holster and aimed it at the man, stopping him in his tracks without her having to move an inch from her seat. She gestured her gun back to the direction to where he came from, and then kicked her head in the same direction just a few seconds after, her eyebrows raising slightly to tell him to go sit back down. Nervously, the man obeyed. She turned back to face the Bartender, resting her hand that held the gun on the counter, her other hand propped beneath her chin to have her fingers hold up the weight of her head, her eyes piercing a hole through him and the wall behind him. The room was still carrying a dead silence; still reeking of cigarette smoke and opened alcohol bottles, the tension that everybody felt was nerve-wracking until the alchemist seethed over her shoulder, "You may resume."

Slowly, they obeyed. And she waited, pausing before she spoke so that she knew there was a background noise to disperse their conversation among the clatter and other peoples' chatter. "Now, there's a few people I need you to identify."

The interview lasted about an hour and a half, and it went by faster than expected. When it was over, both Elric children found themselves walking down the entrance steps, the amber glow from streetlamps reflected on the blacktop, shimmering in puddles from where it had rained just a little bit before.

Nowadays, it was always raining.

They walked together in a heavy silence for the most part, their sights somewhere in-between the wet cobblestone ground and eye-level, watching as their breath formed silver swirls of mist in the air with every exhale that responded to every intake. Marcus slid his hands into his jacket pockets to retain some warmth, and also to practically hide his trembling, unsettled nerves. Isabelle's blood was as cold as the air outside of her, after the events of what happened in the bar made her petrified of her brother ever returning. And he wouldn't, but only for a short while.

The Bartender was able to identify each and every single one of the victims from the pictures she had shown. He even commented about how they had left with another man (which wasn't an uncommon occurrence at this place, apparently), whose face he was never able to catch; and how he watched as they were giggling along with their date for the night in a drunken haze. The last thing he told Isabelle was how he had watched the man would sweet talk the victims to his apartment for a promise of a good time that night, only for them to never be seen again, only once more in an obituary, all from being lured out the door.

"One more thing," the Bartender had informed the detective before the interview was wrapped up in an uncomfortable and unsettling thought.

"What is it?" Isabelle had asked.

There was a pause. The Bartender set the glass down onto a rag with the rest of the clean glasses, resting his elbows on the counter and looking the girl dead in the eyes, he said to her words she wished she didn't have to hear. "Your brother seems to be just his type. This guy is irresistible. He's charming, he's suave, and he'll tell you everything you want to hear to earn your trust. He'll do it with a big smile on his face, just like a snake."

* * *

In history, March 22nd – 30th became known as "The Week of Silence" in Amestrian textbooks. Many historians would point to Isabelle's diary as the source of the title. As she had mentioned in her diary, "Not one thing happened in those nine days. No murders, no robberies, not even a single speeding ticket. Honestly, I was appalled. The Investigations Department had to resort to various field trips and stupid team activities to keep ourselves entertained until it was time to check out and go home. We were all ready to go home. I never once mentioned the incident at the gay bar to any of the other detectives, as I was afraid of any of them arresting Marcus for being who he is. That's one thing I never understood was the absolute hatred these people have to the homosexuals – I never understood how they couldn't just see it for what it was: love." (Elric pg. 153).

In fact, it seemed that the only major events that happened would be when the Lieutenant would vomit almost every morning after breakfast.

On the 27th, Isabelle had told her brother her growing suspicions about the Smiley Face Killer. She was concerned why he suddenly stopped with his killing streak, trying to think of any possibility why he had halted on his murdering spree.

"He might have been at the bar the night and realised you were right on his trail, so he might have decided to lay low out of fear of being caught," Marcus suggested.

She thought of the idea. It was probable, sure, but then she remembered what the Bartender had told her a few days before. _Your brother seems to be just his type._ She had specifically requested that he contacted her if her brother were to leave the bar with anyone, and it scared her to think that there wasn't a single attack since they had that interview.

"He might have targeted you personally," she said in a low voice. She fiddled around with her hair, undoing it from its braid and braiding it again as a nervous habit. "He might be waiting for you to come back."

"See, Izzy, this is how you can spot paranoia. You need to relax."

She couldn't. She had in fact learned to listen to her gut feelings, a little bit more carefully than her own brain.

A few days later, on March 30th, the Week of Silence came to an abrupt end the evening when Marcus decided to go back to that bar, thinking it would be safe by this point to return. He didn't want to tell his sister to avoid worrying her, but they both knew she would end up finding out about it anyway. Buttoning up his jacket, he walked from his room to his sisters, which was only next door. Her door was open, and when he peeked in, he found her reading the latter chapters of _Mary Poppins_. He knocked on her doorframe.

Isabelle looked up, her eyes quickly skimming her brother and his outfit and she swallowed hard. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going back to that bar," Marcus said nonchalantly, trying to keep a cool mannerism so that he wouldn't worry her, but he knew it wouldn't last long. He knew she didn't like that answer at all, because she slammed her book shut without even bothering to bookmark it, shooting up off her bed and almost immediately in front of him.

"You can't."

To Marcus, those next few moments became a muffled blur, unable to remember anything that was said or anything that happened, but he did know that it got ugly. When he came to, he found his sister on the brink of tears in front of him, unable to speak and red marks on the area of her arms between the shoulder and the elbow, where he had held her there so tightly it left a firm imprint for a moment, only to dissipate away by the time he would see her again. He didn't remember what he said, but to this day he regrets it.

"Fine then," Isabelle said flatly, returning to her bed and sitting back down, not saying for a long time until a choked sob escaped her throat, along with the next words that she forced out. "If you truly think that way, go get yourself killed, then. I won't save you this time."

After that, he had a fairly decent idea about what he said. He didn't say anything in return, only walking down the stairs and leaving through the front door. He pretended not to hear her sounds of pain coming from the upstairs.

It was easier that way.

Back at the bar, he was welcomed back just as he usually was, and he sat at his usual spot in the back with the vast majority of the others at the little pub. The moment he started to talk with the others again, it felt like he never left at all, and it felt nice.

"Say, Rudy, when'd you get your ears pierced?" One of them asked, noticing that he was wearing his earrings that he got for his birthday, and he just shrugged in response, prompting laughter from the rest of the group. If anything, he was more surprised that they still thought his name was Rudy, even after they realised Isabelle was an undercover detective.

They talked on for a while, about various things – from the weather to their neighbours' dog, to even the most embarrassing moments in high school. That is, until one of them brought up the Smiley Face Killer. He couldn't go anywhere without hearing about him, couldn't he? He was sick of it.

"You remember that one chick that you brought with you, right Rudy? That undercover cop?" Another asked, sitting up straight and now leaning forward, connecting his knees to his elbows. Marcus nodded in response, so the man continued his question, "Do you still keep in touch with her?"

"She's my sister, so yes," he chucked, taking a drink that someone else had poured for him in a shot glass, watching as it was being refilled. His head was starting to spin just thinking about another shot of alcohol, but he ignored it anyway. "That part wasn't undercover. What about her?"

"Did she tell you anything new about Smiley Face, or are the papers correct in not publishing anything new?"

"Investigations hasn't found a thing," Marcus said, taking another shot, starting to feel the effects of all that liquor take hold on his body. "I guess she scared him into submission. She has a tendency to do that, after all." There was a pause, the only sounds remaining in the room were the clinking of glasses around him and a faint chuckle from where he laughed at his own joke. He took another shot, then he really started to feel dizzy.

"You look drunk as hell," said another man from behind him. When he turned his head, his eyes met a man with burgundy hair and a sweet smile on his face. "Would you like me to take you home? Lord knows you can't walk or drive around when you're drunk, much less on your own during this time."

He nodded and began to stand with a quick thanks. Looking back, Marcus knew that he should have stuck with his gut feeling and politely deny his request, but at the time, the whiskey was overpowering his brain, and all logic that came along with it. Thankfully, his friends around him stood up just as he did, all weary-eyed and suspicious of this new man that just showed up and wooed the drunk boy over. One of them spoke up, "How do we know that we can trust you with our boy here?"

"Don't worry, I know his sister. She sent me here to look after him in case he gets a bit too tipsy," the man with the burgundy hair waved them off, and the rest lowered their guard, practically entranced by his words, almost as if saying "hello" would cast a spell on them. Taking Marcus by the arm, they exited the bar, one of them to never return ever again.

The Burgundy Haired Man guided the drunk Elric into the passenger side of his car, buckling him in snugly, and then hopping into the driver's seat, glancing back to find the blond in the back drifting in and out of consciousness. He shut the door, starting up the vehicle and driving off to his place.

There was a moment where Marcus had processed that the way this man was going was definitely not in the same direction as the General's Estate. He looked at the Burgundy Haired Man, confused, and said to him, "Hey, you're going the wrong way."

The Burgundy Haired Man pulled over on the side, turning back to face Marcus. He smiled sweetly, then simply spoke, "I know." He then lunged towards the boy, his hands holding a firm grip around his neck, squeezing his throat tightly. It was right then did the Elric realise what was actually happening, and that who this Burgundy Haired Man actually was. Marcus tried to peel the fingers from around his neck, but to no avail, so he leaned forward, clawing at his attacker's face with his nails until he managed to cause a deep scratch just under his eye. The assaulter quickly retreated his hands to bring them up to his face, and that's when Marcus took his chance.

He unbuckled himself, snapping the car door open and rushing out into the rain as fast as he could, running away from the scene and trying not to slip and lose his balance because of the puddles. By this point, his adrenaline was overtaking his drunken state, nothing but instinct driving him as his thoughts only screamed two things: _Survive. Isabelle. Survive. Isabelle._ Over and over these thoughts repeated in his head until he felt himself being tackled to the wet ground. He flailed his arms back, crying out for someone, anyone, to help him, but was swiftly cut off by his attacker's hand tangling his fingers in his hair, yanking his head up, only to slam it forehead first back to the cobblestone below. His vision went hazy, but he saw blood, almost as if the last string of hope resided in his iris to stay awake, to stay alive, but one more hit knocked the rest of his consciousness out of his skull. Blackness was all he saw left.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

* * *

It was three in the morning, and Isabelle had just fallen asleep, relatively early for once, too (at least, for her anyway). The phone in her bedroom rang her awake, and she groaned, dragging herself out of her bed and answering the phone with her usual greeting.

"Is this Isabelle Elric? That detective I spoke to not that long ago at my bar?" the voice on the other line was the Bartender's. It was hushed, hurried.

"It is," she replied. She heard him let out a sigh of relief, and she could almost hear him shaking on the other end of the phone. This alone helped wake her up, "What's going on?"

"I can't find your brother. When I asked around to see where he went, they told me that Rudy left with someone you sent."

Isabelle felt her blood run cold, knowing that she didn't send anyone, she dropped the phone, letting it dangle on the cord, her body stiff as a statue. She heard the Bartender attempt to speak to her through the phone, and all she could think about was how her brother was about to be another victim from this serial killer. Her mind raced, and then she forced herself to think this situation through. She dashed, putting on her jacket and some shoes, not even caring that she's still in her nightgown, and then took her pistol with her as she darted down the stairs and out the door. She didn't even bother being quiet. She was sure that she had awoken the General and the Lieutenant.

Her mind screamed for her brother, her legs running faster than she thought they could carry her. As she ran towards the bar, she quickly checked her clip before she slid it back into the gun.

Five bullets. She had five bullets left to kill this motherfucker.

But all she needed was one.

* * *

Marcus's vision faded in and out before he official woke up, bound to a metal chair and his mouth covered with duct tape. His legs were forcefully spread and bound on opposing chair legs, and since he knew what was happening with the bodies, he knew exactly why he was seated this way. He didn't know what was dangling on the chains around him, nor did he want to know what was hanging. He could faintly hear the whirring of an electrical saw, then it stopped. His head was practically splitting open from all the alcohol to begin with, but the adrenaline only hyped up his senses and made it that much worse of an experience for him. Truth be told, the boy was absolutely terrified.

In the distance, he saw his captor walking in his direction with a smile on his face, carrying various blades and tools that he knew was going to be used on him in just a few short moments. It was so hard to breathe with the duct tape over his mouth, and all he could think about was his sister. What would happen to her if she were to find his corpse? How would she react? Tears welled in his eyes, and he couldn't blink them away, feeling them trail down his face, running along over the tape that sealed his lips.

The Smiley Face Killer placed his instruments of torture on the table in front of him, making careful sure that Marcus could see each and every object. His smile never faltered, it never failed, and he leaned in towards the boy to where their noses almost touched before he began to speak, his arms folded behind his back.

"Hi there," he said in a quiet, smooth voice. Marcus felt his breath picking up in fear. "I hope you're comfortable, well, I guess in your case, comfortably tied up." There was a pause, then he unfolded his hands and stood up straight. He picked up a lint roller amongst his tools and made eye contact with the boy, "I hope you don't mind, I gotta tidy up for a little bit." He took the roller and gently glided it around on his shirt, making sure every little sound could be heard and that every little noise was savoured. "I gotta get this lint off. There's something lovely about being clean before the kill, but…I don't expect you to understand."

He rolled up his sleeves, then he looked back, savouring the fear in the blond's eyes, still holding his smile. He took a few steps forward, carefully running the lint roller up his thigh, sending chills down his new victim's spine. In that moment, he didn't know if it was from the sudden arousal or from fear.

"Today is your lucky day, we have a various selection of tools that we're going to use today," his voice was calm, quiet, and oddly soothing. His "s" sounds were drawn out just slightly, reminding him of his snake-like mannerisms. He picked up a little multi-purpose knife from the table, bringing it close to Marcus's eyes as if it were a show and tell at a child's preschool. He fiddled with it, unhinging every little mechanism the knife had to offer, "Now, I've always wanted to use the corkscrew." He pricked his finger on the pointed tip of the corkscrew, wincing when he did. There was a pause, and he looked back at his victim as if nothing happened, "I feel that this would fit really well in the eye socket. As well as this serrated edge right here."

He brought the edge to Marcus's ear and gently ran his finger across the blade multiple times, not hard enough to scratch himself, but hard enough to make that scratching noise. "Now, I'm going to try to be quick, as I have some library books to return this afternoon."

The Smiley Face Killer closed the contents of the multi-purpose knife and then set it back on the table, picking up a long, thick carving knife in the process. "Now this blade…can you hear how sharp that is?" He chuckled as he did the same thing as he did with the serrated edge, running his fingers along the blade to get that scratching sound. Only this time, he didn't have to bring it to his victim's ear; Marcus could hear it from where he was sitting. "Now that just doesn't cut, that cuts _magnificently._ It might cut through some muscle and tendons if we're lucky," he paused. "I like to use this blade to cut my favourite type of potatoes, russet potatoes, they're great for making stir fry and hash browns."

He chuckled at himself, rejoicing silently at how petrified the twenty year old was before him. It was a feeling he thrived on. Marcus, by this point, was shaking, his tears continuously falling and staining his cheeks, and he was looking for any possible way there could be for him to escape.

There wasn't one.

"Now this next item I have," the Smiley Face Killer said as he placed the knife back onto the table, picking up the next toy he wanted to show off. "Speaking of potatoes, I have a little unorthodox potato peeler with a serrated edge," he took a breath, running his nail along the serrated edge to really showcase the sound. "I always wondered what it would be like to peel somebody's skin as if it was a potato. Almost like shaving, but instead of shaving hair off your face it's…shaving skin." He turned the peeler around, examining the carving mechanisms carefully, "We also have a really sharp blade right here, but we have enough of those that we're going to be using on you."

He placed it down, then he picked up a little blade that Marcus would never expect could be used in aiding a murder. But, after seeing this psycho for just a moment, he didn't doubt it at all anymore.

"Now my favourite tool, the butter knife, takes a little bit longer than usual," the Smiley Face Killer mused gently as he ran his fingers along the blade as he did with the others, like it was a routine. "The butter knife has that proper thickness, and a very sharp serrated edge. Usually meant for spreading butter, but I think in this case we're going to go," he paused, gently tapping the tip of the knife against the very edge of Marcus's lips, "In the corner of your mouth, or," he moved the little blade to his hands, forcing his palm to lie flat and pressing the tip between this middle and his index, "In-between your fingers."

He traced the tip of the blade up Marcus's arm and up his neck, then slowly down his chest and stopping just above his pelvis. He took the blade, then gently placed it back onto the table.

"One of my absolute favourite tools is just some small little DIY scissors," the murderer drug the blade from the table, holding it out in front of the boy. He suddenly snapped the scissors open and shut, causing Marcus to almost jump out of his skin. "Wow, imagine all the things we can do with these." He laughed, tinkering around with them for a pause that felt like hours, before he snapped them again, making his victim jump in fear yet again. "Scissors are great, you know, they really bring back those childhood memories of arts and crafts. It's interesting! Because tonight, you're going to be my arts and crafts project. How does that sound?" He grinned a little more, opening and closing the scissors repeatedly, bringing it up to his own ears, then over to the blond's, letting the sound resonate in the room. When he brought them back to his own ears, he just simply whispered, "Snippy, Snippy." He placed them back on the table, "Absolutely perfect for the earlobes, or tongue."

Marcus's eyes scanned around the room for any way that he could try to escape, or at least cause some form of distraction to extend his life, but he couldn't. He was stuck, and he knew this all too well. He knew that he was going to die.

 _Isabelle…_

"Now this," The Smiley Face Killer continued as he pulled up a silver object similar to the knife with the corkscrew, but it was a little bigger. "This is a multi-tool, I've had this for years." He shifted the pliers up with a sharp snap, and he seemed appalled at the sound, so he retracted it and did it again. "This one opens," he explained as he pulled it apart, allowing the pliers to be easily seen. That's when Marcus remembered a specific body his sister had told him about, how the genitals were twisted off. The killer began to open and close the pliers like he did with the scissors, except this sound wasn't as sharp, this one was a little duller. "You hear that?" He made eye contact with his victim, and his smile widened, "I don't even need to tell you what that's for. You already know, don't you? I can see it in your eyes." He took a step closer, unravelling the extra parts of the multi-tool, "This is great! Because it has all kinds of things. It has a little curvy blade here, for all kinds of things. On the other side," he turned the tool over, "There's a very, very sharp saw. Don't touch this." He chuckled to himself darkly, "You don't have much of a choice though, do you?" He folded all the parts back up into the tool and lowered the pliers, closing it down back to the little thing it was, and he gently placed it back on the table.

"Now, before we do any of that, I need to prepare you," the Smiley Face Killer said, pulling out the small blade from the multi-purpose knife and made his way around, behind Marcus. It took him a moment to realise what was about to happen. The Elric always had the back of his head shaved and his hair cut short, giving him a cleaner look overall, but now he hated how easy it was for the calling card to be placed on his body because of it.

As he kissed his wet lips and trailed his tongue down his face and neck and began to slide his hand down his chest, Marcus wept. He began to leave his body. He began to inhabit the air and the silence. He wept and struggled so he would not feel. The murderer retracted his hand, only to slide up to the back of his head and slam it forward like he had done hours before. He knew what was coming.

He could feel the tip of the blade hovering above the back of his neck, his head still forced to be craning over painfully so that the skin stretched out like a canvas. He struggled as best he could, panting heavily and his face wet with his killer's saliva and his own tears. And then, swiftly, suddenly, in full force, blood was added to it.

Marcus had been in a lot of bad pain, sure, but if it weren't for that bullet on his sister's fourteenth, this action would have easily become the most painful experience he had to endure. Even then, it almost started to feel like this was quickly becoming the most painful experience of his life. The killer made sure that he was slow, that he took his time carving the smiley face into the skin on the back of his neck, chuckling darkly to himself at the pain his victim was feeling. This sick son of a bitch really did enjoy inflicting torture. Marcus screamed into the duct tape, knowing too well that nobody could hear him and that it didn't change anything. The event lasted about a solid minute, but to the Elric, it felt like a solid hour. It only made him shudder to imagine how long it was going to be when he was going to receive the full blunt of the torture designed to kill him.

Just as the Smiley Face Killer finished carving up his calling card, he watched as the blood oozed out from the back of the boy's neck and dripped onto the ground below. He flicked his tongue along the injury. Marcus wasn't sure if it was to get a taste, or if it was to cause his wound to sting as badly as it did.

There was a moment, where the murderer let Marcus have just a small amount of time to breathe, watching him shake with every sob and hiccup every time he'd try to breathe. It was hideous.

The killer calmly strode around to be in front of his victim, finally letting go of his head so he could look up. When he did, not only did it hurt his neck even worse by scrunching the wound together, but he also found himself eye to eye with his captor.

It was in that moment came a faint noise from the upstairs, a gentle knock at his wooden door. It had to have been the most perfect timing in the world, and Marcus let out a sigh of relief to think that it would buy him some time. And it did.

The Smiley Face Killer sighed, taking off his gloves making careful sure no blood was visible on him, "I'll take care of it, and then I'll be right back." He went up the stairs and opened the door, only to be greeted with a little girl with blonde hair.

Isabelle stood on the porch, absolutely petrified that she might have found the killer; which, in turn, meant that she found her brother. His appearance seemed to match the description, and she reminded herself that she just had to stay calm.

"Hi, sorry to bother you so late. My name is Isabelle, also known as the Dead Aim Alchemist. I just received a call from a concerned neighbour about you. They say that you seemed to be feeling a little blue, and they were afraid about you doing bad things to yourself," she said. She knew she had to be careful, since nobody in the military had a particular interest in mental health, and she knew that she had to think of a reason to sound official, even though she was holding up her pocket watch.

"What do they think I'm going to do?" the Burgundy Haired Man asked, eyeing the little alchemist suspiciously, but not questioning her motives.

"Well, may I come inside? It's a bit chilly out and I think this conversation would best be said in private," the Elric girl requested politely, to which she received a nod in response. The door opened all the way and he stepped aside, allowing her to walk in. Inside, everything looked normal and everything seemed fine, that is, until they stepped into the basement. Isabelle glanced around, taking note at how the owner of the house locked the door as she entered. Something was up. "They told me that they think you were going to kill yourself."

The man sighed as he finished fastening the final lock and turned back to face the child, "I can assure you that I would never do such a thing. May I ask who sent you this call?"

"They wished that this information be classified," she lied. She felt an uneasy atmosphere in the household. She knew someone else was here, she could practically feel it. Her senses were screaming at her, telling her to run to the basement, and she didn't know why. "May I ask, have you been feeling depressed recently?"

In the basement, Marcus could faintly hear his killer and some woman's voice, asking him probing questions about his current mental health and his responses to each question. He knew he had heard the voice somewhere, until he heard the voice put a specific twang on her "i" sound.

 _Isabelle!_

He struggled profusely, trying to make as much noise and to scream as loud as he could with the duct tape over his mouth to try and get her to hear him. He knew the real reason why she was here. He wasn't stupid, and he most certainly knew that she wouldn't respond to some call meant for a psychiatrist. He thought as hard as he could, trying to get her to hear his thoughts as his muffled screams only echoed in the cold basement walls. _Isabelle! Isabelle! I'm here! I'm here! The basement! Get to the basement!_

"While I'm here, may I ask you one more question? It's a bit more of a personal question, for an investigation I'm doing on my own," Isabelle asked, to which the other man nodded. She took a deep breath, pulling out a picture and holding it up for the man to see, a recent picture of her and her brother, taken by the General. "I'm looking for my brother, he went missing not that long ago. Have you seen him?"

The Smiley Face Killer leaned in and looked at the photo, Isabelle watching his every action intensely. His eyes widened just slightly before returning to normal, his hand twitched behind his back, and his entire demeanour seemed to change. _He knows_. He looked back up at the girl and smiled sweetly, "No, doll, I'm sorry to say that I haven't. I hope you find him, though," he lied, his smile never faltering, but a sinister look in his eyes surfaced.

There was a moment of silence, where the Dead Aim Alchemist just nodded, musing to herself quietly as she felt this man eye her carefully. She knew this was the man, she was sure of it, and it was now or never. Everything went so fast, and the girl whipped out her pistol and aimed it at the killer in front of her, "Freeze! Put your hands where I can see them and get on your knees!" He murderer just laughed, throwing his hands up in the air sarcastically, then he darted around the corner to get out of her line of fire, and also to hide himself. "I said freeze!" she screeched, running after him, weapon aimed and ready to shoot if necessary.

She turned in to the room that he zipped into, quickly skimming around each corner to make sure that he wasn't about to pounce on her. Instead, he attacked her from behind, a switchblade in his hand, about to stab her in the chest. She took him by the wrist and flipped him over her shoulder, and firing a bullet into his leg to keep him from getting back up.

Quickly, the girl leapt over the man in pursuit of finding the basement. She could practically feel it calling to her, sensing a thought in her head that wasn't her own. Her mind was screaming twenty different things at once, but one thing stood out more than the rest, etching itself into her brain to stay there forever: _Marcus._

Isabelle found herself face to face with a door, locked by a deadbolt and a chain lock. She quickly untwisted the deadbolt and removed the chain from its clasp, opening the door and running downstairs. She saw a faint fog from where the two drastic temperatures clashed for dominance, hearing muffled screaming and rummaging coming from the bottom. Once she reached the bottom of the steps, she turned, finding a soft glow of yellow where a head was, shaking to and fro with every twist he would try to wriggle himself out of the seat he was strapped to. The heaviness in her heart subsided, and she couldn't help but feel her eyes start to well slightly, overwhelmed in relief.

 _He's alive._

"Marcus!" she cried out, running towards her brother, stopping behind him once she saw blood seeping from his neck. She wiped at it, only to find a smiley face carved into his skin. She started to tremble slightly, knowing that she barely made it in time before it was too late. Letting out a shaky breath, she whipped herself around to stand in front of her brother, watching the relief flood from his eyes as teardrops. Neither of them had been so happy to see each other in their whole life up to this point. "I'm going to get you out of here, okay? Everything is going to be fine, I promise. It's all going to be okay."

She brought her hands to the straps around his wrists, the ones that were binding him to the seat, and she began to undo the buckles. It was hard to do when they were rushing, and even harder when her nerves couldn't keep her hands still. She managed to get one of them undone before Marcus started squealing at her, writhing and trying to get her attention with his now free hand, all noise muffling to nothing. She looked at him, "Marcus, what is it?" He pointed behind her and screamed into the duct tape.

When she turned, she found that the Smiley Face Killer not only had her gun, but was aiming it at her. Just as she turned to face him, he fired, and luckily for the Elrics, he was a terrible shot. Maybe that's why he used blades. The bullet grazed past her ear, ripping off a small chunk from her ear harp, knocking her head backwards. She cried out, clutching her ear as she stumbled backwards, lost her balance, and fell on top of her brother before tumbling down to the ground. Even with the duct tape, Isabelle could hear Marcus scream for her, her name muffled by the silver elastic on his mouth.

She looked up, only to find the pistol aimed at her head once more. Her hands quickly reached up and grabbed the weapon, aiming it down to the floor and she wrenched at his wrist, watching him let go of the firearm with a satisfying snap. As he bent down to pick up the gun with his good hand, Isabelle pushed past him as she stood, running to the table and grabbing the thick carving knife as her weapon of choice. She turned sharply and ducking her head down just as fast as she turned. She was thankful that she did, because he fired just as she lowered her head.

Isabelle quickly crawled under the table and dashed off into the darkness, her entire body shaking with every fast step that she took, and hot tears rimmed the bottom of her eyelids. The Smiley Face Killer laughed and pursued, a wide grin on his face.

It felt like a giant game of cat-and-mouse, and she was nothing more than one of those little vermin, scurrying around in a desperate attempt to shake the man off of her trail. While all this took place, Marcus ripped the duct tape off his mouth with his free hand, and began to fumble around with the other strap that held his other wrist down. Both Elrics were panting heavily, their hearts skipped like a rabbit and thudded against their chest, like a hammer against cloth. The best thing Isabelle could do at this moment was think, and it felt like her mind wasn't going to help her anytime soon.

Isabelle whipped around to face her brother, starting to help him undo the clasp around his hand, both of them murmuring quick, hushed whispers of comfort to each other.

They honestly thought that they were going to die.

That's when the Smiley Face Killer pounced on top the girl, pinning her to the ground as she screamed. He took the knife from her hand and tossed it to the other side of the room, watching it slide across the floor, creating sparks as the blade scraped against the smooth concrete. His hands tightened themselves around her throat, practically getting off at the sound of her struggle for even a gasp of air. He inched his legs on top of her, sitting on her chest and borderline grinding his pelvis against her chest. She felt her vision fade from black to what she was seeing, the sound of her brother screaming for her growing farther and farther away as his grip around her neck increased with intensity and she knew she had to act fast. She reached her hands up from his, scratching as his face, trying to gouge out his eyes.

Like brother like sister.

His hands flung up to protect his face again, knowing full well what these Elric children were capable of with just their fingernails. That's when Isabelle seized her chance, shoving him off of her body and lunging forward, grabbing the knife that slid so far away from her reach. As the both stood, the child turned back around and sprinted, leaping at the murderer, impaling the knife into his chest. He cried out as they fell, reaching up to try and stop her from taking his life, and that was the last noise he made. It was swiftly cut off by a clean slice at his head, chopping through his brain and clanging against the concrete below.

The tables had turned, and now there was Isabelle, straddled atop, stabbing over and over again into his head and chest. Even after nothing but chunks remained of the top half of the Smiley Face Killer, the girl still didn't stop from chopping at those chunks over and over again until nothing remained. The only thing that stopped her was when her brother finally gained the courage to speak up again, calling her name one last time, gently, soothingly, and comforting.

"Isabelle, stop."

She paused, shaking, looking at the blood that now covered her arms and face, and she felt a slight sick relief when she knew that it was this psycho's blood. He deserved every little bit of it all.

Isabelle slowly stood, her breathing faltering, almost hiccupping with every failed attempt to control her inhales and exhales. She turned back to face Marcus, who had since freed himself completely from the straps that bound him to that awful chair. She was even seeing the slight fear in his eyes when he saw the crimson sprayed all across the front of her body, even in her hair, creating a beautiful blend of orange. They stopped, just looking at each other for a brief moment, before the girl realised what he saw – what she had _done_ – and a sob lodged itself in her throat. The tears that lined the tops of her cheeks began to descend, and she fell to her knees, trembling, and wept, repeating a simple phrase over and over, almost as if she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince her brother.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm _sorry–_ "

"Oh Izzy," Marcus spoke in a soft voice as he knelt down beside her, pulling her body close to his and holding her as tightly as he could without hurting her. She clutched him as if he would die right then and there if she were to even think about letting go of him, in fact, it was starting to hurt him at how tightly she was holding him. He didn't say anything, knowing full well that she was right to be scared, and that she was right to have been so overprotective. And to think that the last things he had told her before this moment would have been something hurtful. He didn't want to think about it. He was, in fact, sobbing with his sister, but quietly enough to not worry the child, letting her cry it out. He felt that she needed it so much more than he ever could. "It's okay, it's okay. We're all okay. I'm right here, babygirl. It's okay."

That name hurt her even worse, even though she knew that he didn't mean to. The only person that had called her babygirl before was her father and her mother. Marcus seemed to pick up on the fact that saying that bothered her, so he stuck with what he was used to saying to his baby sister.

They sat there together for a short while, before he carefully rubbed Isabelle's shoulder, guiding her up and holding her close even as they stood. "Let's go home."

He kept one arm wrapped around her shoulders, their bodies side by side as they walked up the stairs and towards the front door. Marcus unlocked the front door and opening it, only to be blinded by flashlights and spotlights, pistols aimed in their direction. Both of the Elric children raised their hands in front of their eyes to block out the blinding light, only to hear one of the men shout, "Freeze! Stay where you are!"

Isabelle peeked between her fingers, her eyes adjusting to the light, and she heard audible gasps from the crowd of military officers. She heard one especially, and she saw a man push his way through the crowd, calling for the Elric kids. The General ordered everybody to lower their weapons as cameras flashed and tried to take any photo they could of a scene that would be published in all textbooks that talked about the infamous Smiley Face Killer. "Isabelle, Marcus," he said softly as he came up to the kids, looking at them both, noting a glossiness that no longer resided in their eyes. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around the girl, as it was polite, and he helped guide them down the stairs as the Lieutenant shove her way toward her husband and godchildren.

As they were guided down the steps and into a military vehicle, the Lieutenant Colonel made eye contact with his subordinate, "You can tell me what happened later." She nodded, hopping into the car with her brother and the General and his Lieutenant. The car doors were slammed shut. The cameras kept flashing, even as they drove away.

* * *

Dawn had just started to crack in the sky when they arrived at the hospital, both Elric children taken inside to be checked for injuries. The worst Isabelle had suffered was her bullet wound in the harp of her ear, while Marcus's worst came from the carving on the back of his neck, which would leave behind a scar that would reside with him for the rest of his days.

He would still feel it sometimes, the blade, and the agonising fear that he was going to die right then and there. After this incident, he would grow his hair out a little bit, especially in the back, where his hair would now be rather shaggy, but covering the scar on the back of his neck. When it was healed, there would be times where he would lace his fingers over the lines permanently etched into his skin. For a long while, Marcus wouldn't be able to handle being around basic kitchen blades, since he would have been quickly triggered by the events that happened in the Smiley Face Killer's basement.

Sometimes, the panic would strike him at random moments. If he had the misfortune of being stuck with an attack while he was in public, he would lock himself away in a restroom, trying to control his breathing and get his anxiety under control. He would often have nightmares of this incident, and he would get them even until the day he died. Most of the time, these panics came to Marcus shortly after dinnertime, and he would hold tightly onto the back of a chair and count to ten to help him forget the trauma he had seen that night. Whenever this would happen, Isabelle would join him, but she would wrap her arms around him from behind, gently, and resting her head carefully against his back as a silent way to comfort her older brother.

Speaking of the girl, Isabelle had her own shock to deal with that she took with her from the incident. She had her own fair share of nightmares, but they weren't about being killed like one would think – after all she was almost murdered herself from trying to save her brother from a psycho that wanted him dead for no reason. She'd wake up with a scream lodged in her throat from having a vivid night terror about walking up on the scene to find her brother dead, or worse, watching him be mutilated and murdered right in front of her. She couldn't handle the thought of losing him. She almost did, and she vowed that she would never let it get that close again.

During those nights, Isabelle would climb out of her bed and tiptoe into her brother's room right next door. She stopped going outside. She stopped sleeping on a tree branch. Hell, she even stopped going to bed later than everybody else, since her mind would do horrendous things to her while she sat alone in an empty room. Damn her for having such a vivid and grotesque imagination.

She would carefully step into her brother's bedroom, taking as many precautions as possible to make sure that she didn't wake him from his slumber. After that, she would crawl into bed with him, not laying on top of him to wake him, but close enough to hear him breathing, where she would sleep there for the rest of the night. Those nights she would wake up to find herself being held in her brother's arms; as if he, too, would have the same reoccurring nightmare about losing his baby sister. When she would find herself in that position, Isabelle would carefully reposition herself to where she was even closer to Marcus, but pressing an ear against his chest so that way she could hear his heart.

And it was still beating.

* * *

During the latter half of that week, the General worked intently with the Führer to wrap up all the loose ends in regards to the Smiley Face Killer case. It was closed relatively easy once he was caught and killed, but that didn't stop the public outcry that came after it was leaked that Isabelle was the one that killed him.

They would have been fine had it been anybody else, but the fact that it was a child that had to do the dirty work was something that the public just couldn't accept to go without the adults being shamed for not keeping her and her brother safe. This continued until Isabelle herself had to step forward and give a small speech about the events that took place the night she slaughter the Smiley Face Killer, and how there was no adult in the wrong except for the killer himself. After this, the citizens responded relatively coolly, accepting things for what they were and returning about their daily lives.

One day, Isabelle had went to the Führer and made a special request. "I want you remove the outlaw on homosexuality," she told him simply, "And I will not stop fighting you until you do. If you want, I can even rally up enough people to help push the change."

"Are you threatening to start a riot, Dead Aim?" The Führer looked her as if she were insane.

"I said 'if you want,'" she shrugged. "These people were the ones that helped me catch the Smiley Face Killer. They were the ones being prosecuted. They've been through enough, you and I both know by now that something has to change."

And just like that, the government guaranteed equality for all sexual orientations in a matter of two short days.

There was one day more, a night at home after the General and everybody else returned to the Estate. There was the usual dinnertime, small talk, and other little things, but everybody made their way to their beds rather early this day. After all, it was rather exhausting, and they had the day off the next day. Nothing was better than getting a full night of rest.

When the General flopped onto his bed with a sigh of relief, the Lieutenant hesitated. He turned and looked at her, as she stood, fiddling around with her fingers.

"What's the matter, Lieutenant?" He asked, sitting up and looking at her with slight concern.

"There's something I have to tell you, sir. It's something I've been meaning to tell you for a couple of days now," she began, and then her words trailed off. She looked undeniably nervous, her mouth dry and unable to form a coherent sentence. Mustang looked at her, wanting to make sure she was alright, and then she took a deep breath. "Roy," Riza said, and there was a pause. There was such a long and agonising pause. But, the next words out of her mouth were ones that changed their lives forever.

"I'm pregnant."

* * *

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. That only took too long to write! What was it, a couple weeks? Good lord, but thankfully I managed to get it out. Alright guys, I'm going to take a small break from this fanfiction, so I can go write a chapter of Bond and clear my head, and then I'll come back here! Don't worry, I'm only alternating between fanfictions for each chapter, so there won't be a hiatus longer than a month. Once again, comments and opinions are so appreciated! Thank you so much for reading, and I'll see you guys again soon!

-Elena


	11. Chapter Ten: The Phantom Alchemist

WARNINGS FOR: Language, violence, death (that's become such a norm at this point omg)

Hey guys! I just came back from Ball State University for a very expensive Journalism Workshop (which by the way I won a scholarship for so I didn't have to pay a dime) and it's wonderful! I also would like to apologize for the long hiatus, I'm currently trying to get my YouTube Channel, "The Baehood," on the up and up again and school started up for me again and I'm also a member of the newspaper and theatre, so it gave me much less time to do it (yeah Elena whatever you gotta tell yourself to help you sleep at night and get through writer's block); but anyway! I can't believe we made it to ten chapters! Thank you guys so much for all your love and support for this story! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and once again, thank you so much for reading!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

 **The Phantom Alchemist**

Edward sat on the front porch, smoking from his pipe just as he normally did before. It was early in the morning, the rest of his family still asleep in their beds, giving him just enough time to watch the sunrise and think. He and Roy were quite similar with this – nobody knew what they would think about in the mornings, and nobody dared to bother them. Sometimes, they didn't think at all, sometimes, it was another way for them to shut off their minds while staying awake and not having to suffer from any nightmares. The rest of the time, they would think, about anything in particular, whether it be in the past or the future, their mind would be speaking to them in their own voice.

Who knew what goes through their heads.

In this particular case, Edward thought about sleep. He wanted it, but it was too late to have it, since it was early morning. Granted, he was an adult by now and could do what he wanted, but he has two children. It was like that saying all mothers tell their little ones from a very young age: "when you have kids, your life no longer becomes your own."

It had never been so true in his case. After Marcus was born, that became Ed's only focus until Isabelle was born, where he now had to become an expert at multitasking. Thank the Truth for Winry, for being the perfect partner and the perfect mother.

 _Mother._

He thought of his mother. He thought of the chestnut hair that was gently pulled off to the side and tied just to keep it from being a mess. He thought of how that simple shade of lavender with the white apron always seemed to suit her, and she always had a modest elegance to her. He remembered how she'd sing to him and Alphonse at night, and her voice was always very pretty.

He tried to sing his lullaby to his children when he had them, but the first note made him choke on his own words, and he had to practically force himself to finish the lyrics. Wintry was the one who convinced him to change the lullaby for the kids, and he thought of the night he tried to bring his mother back from the dead. He remembered how Alphonse desperately scooped him up into his arms so he could run to Pinako's house at the dead of night, his older brother bleeding to death on the suit of armour. Edward remembered while they ran to the Rockbell house, he looked to the sky, seeing a bright red cardinal soar across the sky, the crimson from its wings matching the blood from his limbs.

" _Sing little bird, sing little bird, let your wings guide me."_

He thought of the night he failed to commit human transmutation. His mind flashed and flickered with the awful memories that came with it. The pipe dropped from his hands as they flew up to clutch his head; goddamn it, it hurt to remember. It was if his brain screeched at him – over and over again until he finally–

"Papa!"

Edward's eyes snapped open and turned towards the sound – towards reality – when he saw his thirteen-year-old daughter staring at him with concern. He sighed in relief, knowing his place in the real life, and he just gave her a tender smile and spoke in a soft voice, "I'm sorry, babygirl, did I wake you up?"

The girl did not nod, nor did she shake her head, she just glossed over the subject while her eyes gave away the answer. "Were you dreaming again, Papa?"

He looked at her dead in the face, expecting himself to lie to her and tell her that he was fine, but he couldn't. Isabelle wasn't stupid, he knew this, and he certainly wasn't going to take advantage of her and treat her like a child. She was about to be legal, after all. Edward just sighed as he looked at her, his smile faltering, "Yeah, I was."

She didn't say anything in response, but she had a sadness in her iris, the blue flame dimming to a cooler water – deeper, sadder, but still lukewarm. She took a few steps closer to him, standing slightly taller than he was since he was sitting on the porch swing, and she bent forward, wrapping her arms around him. There was a moment of silence, before he pulled her down to him, letting her sit on his lap and sprawl her legs across the rest of the swing, and he held her back with a tighter force. It was as if he was clinging to her for the last time, her body light against his and a melancholy atmosphere clouding their souls.

"Isabelle, please, no matter what happens to your mother and I, don't commit human transmutation." Edward pulled her back, holding her by her shoulders and looked at his daughter eye-to-eye, a gold flame meets blue. She nodded, but he shook his head, "No, babygirl, promise me. Please, promise me. Promise me you won't commit human transmutation. Tell me, right now, I want to hear you say it."

"I promise, Papa."

"Promise what?"

"I promise I won't commit human transmutation."

The wind grazed by, gently lacing its fingers across their cheeks, blowing carefully on their necks and tracing their collar bones. "No matter what happens," Edward added in a demanding voice.

"No matter what happens," Isabelle concluded.

That was all the security he needed. Knowing how well his daughter sticks to her word, he rested her head on his chest again, holding her tightly in his arms just as he had before. Out of the corner of her eye, Isabelle saw the last little flicker of flame within the ashes of his pipe die; one ear was covered by the palm of her father's hand, the other covered by his chest, listening to his heart – a hammer against cloth.

And it was still beating.

* * *

"Wakey-wakey!"

Edward was awake before he opened his eyes, but he didn't appreciate his head being yanked up by his hair. His ponytail was loose by this point, most of it was hanging out of the knot and very few strands were bunched together at the nape of his neck.

He glanced in-between the cell bars to see his brother, and found that Alphonse had been bleeding from his nose, a faint purple tinging his face from the bottommost corner of his eyelid to the uppermost tip of his lip. His head snapped towards his captor to scream at him for hurting his baby brother, but he saw a bite mark on his hand – specifically, in that strip of flesh between his thumb and index finger; in his other hand, the knuckles were red, the knuckle on his ring finger cracked just slightly and leaking just a little bit of blood.

The older felt a twang of pride when he pieced two and two together to figure out what Alphonse had done. Edward knew that his brother could fight, sure, but he never knew that he had it him to fight dirty – to the point of biting people, even. If anything, he would have worn that bruise on his face with pride knowing that he finally inflicted an injury on this man.

Speaking of their captor, after he woke up the older brother he left the cell, standing in-between the two of them just as he had every day before. "I thought you two were rather lonely down here, so I got you someone to talk to."

Immediately, Edward thought of his children and his wife. He was afraid that his captor finally caught them, and that they were going to be forced into this horrible situation. The thing is, however, Isabelle hadn't been exposed to the things the brothers have experienced, and that it would be a lot easier to sway her in the direction he wanted. Little did her father know that he underestimated her hard-headedness.

Instead, he brought down someone just as important to them. The door opened, and a young woman was pushed down and ran down the few steps, where their captor caught her once she reached the bottom of the stairs. Her body was small against his, and the only thing they could make out was faint traces of dark hair. It was clear the woman had been crying. "Come on, sweetheart, why so scared? Stop crying, see, your dear fiancé is here." He spun the woman around, one arm wrapped around her body to hold her arms in place, and the other holding her head against his body, tightly gripping onto her forehead to keep her hair from her face.

Alphonse screamed.

When Edward's eyes focused on her face, he saw that it was May. Her face was wet from sweat and hot, angry tears, her body trembling and her visage clearly expressing a form of spite. May had always been a brave girl, and this was no exception. When she locked eyes with her fiancé, her expression softened. "Alphonse," she called out, her eyes flooded and overflowed with relief.

Their captor forced her to walk forward, opening the younger brother's cell and pushing her in. She didn't think to get him out of the shackles that bound his hands to the wall, instead her first instinct was to run towards him and scoop his face in her hands. Just to feel his touch, really, and then there was a kiss – and in that kiss the couple almost completely forgot about what was currently happening in their lives. Physical contact was an essential part of their relationship, especially to Alphonse; it made him feel more human. When they pulled away, that's when she realised what she should do. She reached her hands up to the shackles to scratch a transmutation circle onto the iron with her nails, only to be yanked away.

"Oh, how very," he paused, trying to keep the princess still as she thrashed against him to let her lover escape. Once he found the proper word, he tossed the small girl backwards, having her crash into the bars on Edward's cell with a cry. "Touching," he finished. He turned to look at her, ignoring the brothers' screaming and shouting, and a wicked grin spread across his face.

"Now," he said, walking backwards and gently patting Alphonse on top of the head. "Remember my soldiers that you saw when we brought you here? I need you to make more of those for me. Stronger, now, so that Ed's daughter can quit killing them. These two keep refusing, no matter what I do to them."

That's when they all knew what he was talking about. Edward was screaming his thoughts at her, knowing full well that she could at least sense what he wanted her to say. "No," May said in a stern yet slightly concerned voice. The last thing she wanted to make was one of those things, especially if they were going out to hunt her only niece and nephew.

"No?" he mused.

"No," she repeated. By this point, she was shaky again, knowing that something was going to happen. Their captor had a way of striking fear into people, and yet so it seemed May was a tough egg to crack.

He just hummed a little, nodding slightly as he did. Then in one swift motion, he swooped down and tore open Alphonse's shirt at his shoulder, baring his teeth just above the skin. He unshackled one of his hands and held it down, letting his shoulder hang down so that he may have something to bite into with ease. Except this time, they were sharpened and fanged, like a wolf's. He took note of their immediate reaction to lunge forward to protect the helpless brother, and he opened his jaws, strings of saliva dripping onto the bare shoulder.

He paused, watching May freeze in her position, resorting to asking him over and over not to hurt him. "All it takes is one bite, and he'll bleed out," their captor said like how a mother would scold her child on their first offense. "Now, I'll ask again. I would like you to make more soldiers for me."

She was definitely shaking. She quickly glanced at her fiancé, for an answer. By this point, she wanted to agree so that he wouldn't get hurt, but she didn't want to do it at all. "Don't do it May!" Alphonse cried out. Suddenly, his captor's hand wrapped around his mouth, his nails now claws, digging into his skin just enough to break it and draw some blood, but not enough to cause any serious damage. One hand covering his mouth and the other hand gripped the unshackled arm to keep it from moving; to keep a wide area for him to bit into.

"You're not answering to him, you're answering to me," he said simply. "So what will it be, sweetheart?" Her fiancé couldn't say anything, but his eyes screamed everything.

It felt like thirty years between his request and her response. The wait weighed on them in a deadly silence – their bodies losing heat from their bloodstream when she finally spoke.

Edward could only remember the cold.

* * *

When Isabelle woke up, she found herself in a puddle of blood. Along from the sweat and fear that came with her nightmare, she had a scream lodged in her throat, only to escape when she found the crimson staining her bedsheets. Her shrieks were what woke up everybody else in the Estate, and they were never so quick to run to her bedroom.

Marcus was there first, understandably, since he was in the room right next to hers, and he saw the blood-soaked sheets and immediately cried out for the General. He and the Lieutenant arrived at the same time, guns drawn and gloves on, quickly skimming the room before the General found the puddle of blood the Elric children had been screaming about. "I'm dying!" Isabelle kept crying out, practically choking on her words from the utter panic she was experiencing, "I'm dying! I'm _dying_!"

The Lieutenant seemed to be immediately relieved, and she calmly walked towards Isabelle, who had gone into a panicked frenzy. "Isabelle," she said carefully and soothingly, but unable to get her words across to the girl. The woman took a deep breath, then slapped her across the face, cutting out her hysteria and snapping her back into reality. There was a stunned pause from everybody else in the room before she spoke again, "Isabelle, where are you bleeding?"

"My legs, I think!" she gasped, removing her hand from her cheek and slowly patting the small puddle of blood that came from in-between her legs and branched outwards. When she drew back her hand, it had stained her palm with crimson. She screamed, as if to panic again, but the Lieutenant silenced her, asking what she was physically feeling, if there was any pain to begin with. The girl's response was almost instant: "It hurts!" She pointed to her lower body in general, afraid to even lift the sheets to find the source of the blood.

"Isabelle, do you know what a period is?"

The General quickly straitened up and stepped away from Marcus at the doorframe, walking a distance away from the scene since he now knew what actually happened. Isabelle looked at her brother, as if he had the answers to what she was talking about, and he just shook his head with a confused and terrified look. How were they supposed to know? The girl wasn't given the Talk as a child and the boy never dated a female, so they weren't aware of what the hell was happening.

The Lieutenant pursed her lips together – they had a lot of work to do.

After everything had settled down and worked out, they sent Isabelle to sleep in the guest room, since her sheets and blankets were taken off her bed to be washed thoroughly with cold water. For the cramps, she was fortunate enough to receive painkillers since the General was wealthy enough to buy them.

Not only was her first period scarring for Isabelle, but it was scarring for Marcus as well. Having no prior knowledge about menstruation and suddenly waking up to his sister shrieking as if she was being murdered and finding her in a puddle of blood triggered some awful flashbacks in his head. They weren't, however, about the Smiley Face Killer as most would think; no, it was about Isabelle's fourteenth. He was always comfortable working with blood, after all he was an automail mechanic and had to deal with emergency situations with his mother often, but he could never handle seeing blood when it involved his family and close friends that he cared about.

It always took him back to the night Winry was murdered.

It seemed as though by this point both of the Elric children came to terms with their mother's murder and accepted it so that they may try and move on, but the event that unfolded always had a way of creeping back into their heads. When they'd listen to the music on the radio, they'd hear the gunshot that took their mother's life. When they'd carry on and get lost in their daydreams, they'd see Winry amongst the haze. When they'd sleep at night, they found themselves back in the dining room. Just as they'd start to move on, something would yank them back to where they were before.

The murder always found a way back, even if they attempted to push this memory and repress it as far back into their minds as possible – it'd always make a return.

And tonight, it was in the form of silky red ribbons that carefully dripped onto the hardwood floor; the blood cutting a vivid memory into the linen bedsheets.

* * *

After stopping the Smiley Face Killer, one would think that the Investigations Department would be celebrating their victory, and they'd be wrong. It seemed that Isabelle had detonated a bomb of tension within the group, being the youngest of all of them and the only one to kill a man at the drop of a hat. Nobody else in Investigations had been in the military for longer than a decade, and even then there weren't any wars or situations where they had to take a life. They were trained to do so, if necessary, but the only one that managed to successfully follow through was the child. It didn't help that about two weeks after things died down with the Smiley Face Killer case, several other murders started to unfold. Instead of homosexual men, however, this one was targeting State Alchemists.

Specifically, newer, female State Alchemists that were blonde, young, and lower in ranking. This one, the General knew, was targeting Isabelle. If it weren't for the fact a couple of these murders took place while the Dead Aim Alchemist was still in the office with the Lieutenant Colonel, most of Investigations would actually assume that it was her.

At first, the target found this absurd, until she put herself in their position and realised that she would be one of the best candidates to be a murderer. She was the only person in the department that killed someone, the one that figured out the Smiley Face Killer's identity in practically no time at all, and the fact that she's probably the most intelligent member of the Investigations Department meant that all odds were stacked against her. Many would think that the members of Investigations would be in the clear if a murder were to take place, but if anything, and ironically, those in the Investigations Department are interviewed first, because it would be so easy for them to get away with murder.

The General made careful sure to keep Isabelle guarded at all times. When she wasn't in the Investigations office with the Lieutenant Colonel, she was to stay at his own personal office with him until his shift was over. Marcus stayed with them, too; he wanted to make sure that his sister didn't run off and find herself to be a victim of murder just as he almost did.

In a way, Isabelle liked being stuck in the General's office with him and the Lieutenant. Before she got her job as a detective, she was only able to see them whenever they were done for the day – which was in the evening. However, after she earned her position in the Investigations Department, the only time she could see them was when she was dismissed – which ended up being later. Being a detective often meant pulling all-nighters in the office to try and solve cases until they passed out from mental and physical exhaustion. Isabelle was guilty of this, until it started to worry the General and he had to force her home by a certain time. That's when Lieutenant Colonel Fletcher would take her home since he was able to drive her to the Estate safely.

Prior to the murders, Isabelle often returned to the Estate later than the General himself. It's not that there were so many cases, it was one case alone – the hardest case that anybody in Investigations ever had to deal with in the past century – the Elric Case. She had come back home many times in tears, originating from an emotion that she couldn't place her finger on. There were too many to choose from when it came to that case.

After the murders began to take place, Isabelle would be ordered to the General's office an hour or two prior to his dismissal, so that he could take her back to the Estate himself. In those couple hours, Isabelle was often helping the General and his team with whatever they needed, or she'd have time to work on pettier cases that she was assigned. She learned to enjoy spending her time there, especially since Team Mustang was quite different from the Investigations Department.

From what she knew, it was also not the same group of individuals that were there following the General while her father knew them at her age. Apart from himself and the Lieutenant, only two men had stayed under the General's command after the Promised Day – Second Lieutenants Havoc and Breda. She knew of Feury and Falman, but only in writing and in mention, since it was the original Team Mustang that wrote to her for her fourteenth; only because they knew her through her father. The two different members didn't know her nor her father, but they grew to love her just as much as the rest of the team had.

These two were Second Lieutenants Erich Hermann and Hugo Nabokov.

Due to Isabelle's inadequate social skills in regards to meeting people didn't necessarily know, while she was at their office she was practically glued to the General's hip. And when he'd shoo her away so he could stall on his paperwork, she was right next to the Lieutenant.

While it did take a few days, she did find herself to warm up to the group. Isabelle took a particular liking to Breda, since he was one a member of the Investigations Department until he was promoted into Team Mustang. Already, the girl was ready to fly above her station and make her own legacy – her own mark on the Elric name.

They didn't mind Dead Aim being around all of a sudden for a few hours, knowing her situation and just how important she was to the General and the Lieutenant. If anything, they took such a strong liking to her that they eventually volunteered to be her bodyguard if she wanted to leave to go someplace like the library. She wasn't one to handle cabin fever easily, and finally being allowed to go off and do something was refreshing every once in a while.

This experience made her understand her brother's absolute hatred of being ordered not to go anywhere. At least then, the chances of the Smiley Face Killer choosing Marcus was a lot smaller than her circumstances now. This killer was targeting her. The murders all but confirm it.

Because of this, Marcus didn't even want Isabelle to leave the building without him by her side, even if she was protected by someone that worked for the state. It was the General that had to convince him to stay with him in the office after his apprenticeship so that he wasn't following his sister around.

She had learned quite a lot about the General while she was there – before thinking that he was a hard worker and ambitious, and someone who remained loyal to only his wife. And yet, while she spent time with him in his workplace, she found out that not only was he really lazy, he also puts on the façade of being flirtatious; but she did notice that he didn't typically do that while in front of the Lieutenant.

Smart move.

While Isabelle had plenty of free time with the General, she was actually given one of the spare desks in his office so that she could work on whatever she wanted. She had recently remembered at how alchemists transcribe their notes so that nobody could understand them and have their work fall into the wrong hands. It inspired her to start transcribing her own notes in flower arrangements.

Then it made her think about her father – she knew he transcribed his notes in travelogue, and not even her uncle could decipher what was within it. So, upon asking the General and getting his seal of approval, Isabelle managed to get all of Edward's documents that were in the library so she could take on the challenge of decoding them herself.

While she may be known in the future as the smartest alchemist in history, she knew that her father was not stupid by any means. In fact, he may be as smart as she is now, considering he scored so high on his essay when he was _twelve._ If his intelligence increased with his age, then he should most certainly be at least close to her level in regards to intellect.

Maybe this was why she was having such a hard time trying to translate his notes.

Granted, she was making some progress a little at a time, but it didn't make the task any less difficult to tackle head on. She seriously underestimated him, to say the least. The challenge was too damn hard.

But it wasn't as hard on her as the Elric Case was.

If there was anything impossible on this side of the gate, it would have been solving the Elric Case. Nobody knew what to do with it – and the only lead they had was shot to bits by a fourteen-year-old girl. At least Isabelle was making progress with her father's notes by a paragraph or two a day, with the Elric Case there was no progress at all.

If it weren't for the fact they were kidnapped, the military would have ordered the case to be shelved until they found a lead and have the missing Elrics presumed dead instead of relying on a desperate child in a frantic search to find her family. Thankfully, there were two eyewitnesses to confirm that they were indeed kidnapped – and with the incident with the General and how the Shapeshifting Chimera wanted the girl alive furthered the point.

Isabelle forced herself to transcribe her father's notes for some sign, for something, anything to grab onto as a lead, even if it's a stretch. She managed to unlock names and locations she had briefly heard about; after this killer targeting her would be found, she would be able to go out on location and interview who she can to get whatever information possible.

She could practically taste them.

It was another night she spent frantically trying to decipher what she could, her eyelids heavy and yet she still continued on, planning to stay awake until she finished the paragraph. There were times where she felt her head nodding forward and her eyes starting to close, and she had to practically smack herself back awake. About an hour of this took place, and she wasn't even a fourth of the way done.

The General tapped on her shoulder, prompting her to turn her head and face him. "I think it's time for us to go home," he said to her simply. Isabelle looked around the room, noticing nobody else there. It wasn't uncommon for the General to dismiss his team from their duties and he stayed later, especially if he noticed Dead Aim on the verge of a breakthrough in her notes.

"I'm almost done," she lied, "may I finish, sir?"

"What's your definition of 'almost,' Dead Aim? Is it an eighth forward or an eighth left?" This prompted her to just purse her lips together and not say anything, defeated. He just sighed and gestured her to stand up and leave with him.

Obediently, she did.

Something was troubling him, and it was obvious; anybody could see it in his eyes. Yet, he didn't say anything, so Isabelle deemed it best that she remained silent about the matter and leave him to talk to the Lieutenant about things that bothered him. As he opened her door to let her in the car and they hopped in, what she didn't expect was for him to volunteer the information. The doors had just shut, and a heavy silence weighed on the two of them. Finally, he spoke to her, "Isabelle, I have bad news."

She remained quiet, already her heart sinking about the possible things that could have happened. Whatever happened, did Marcus know? Was it something just between the two of them? Was it her family? The last thing she wanted to hear was bad news about her family. However, she already had learned by this point that the Truth is cruel, and that it won't give her something that she wants.

"There was a raid – in Xing. May's gone."

* * *

To put it bluntly, Isabelle was not having a good time at all. If she wasn't pushing herself to find every little detail within her father's notes before, she was definitely doing so now. She wouldn't even show up to either the Investigations office or to the General's office anymore; after a long series of panicking, she was found in the library, her research completely scattered around a table while she was keeping herself awake to read what she can about her family.

Desperation rang in her entire existence, and it sparked multiple rumours within the military. Since the murders had stopped since the last victim a few weeks prior, it certainly wasn't looking good on Isabelle's reputation.

The General tried to diffuse these rumours, but yet it only seemed to make them worse. Dead Aim didn't care about her reputation by this point, she didn't care if everybody in the State thought she was the damned Smiley Face Killer herself – she had one goal in mind.

 _A lead._

It didn't matter what it was or where it was or who it was or why. She just wanted answers, and she wasn't going to rest until she found them. The General had to practically pry the Elric away from her notes and drag her out of the library, forcing her to go home so that she may get at least some rest.

What the General didn't know was that she wasn't going to stop that easily. She was so close to cracking the code within Edward's alchemy notes, and she wasn't giving up just yet. She'd rest her eyes for an hour or so, squirming around in bed to keep herself moving and active so she won't accidentally pass out. Just when the rest of the family had gone to bed, she'd sneak out of her window at night, pocket-watch in hand, back to the library. There, she would stay and work until two hours before sunrise, where she'd give herself just enough time to make it back to the Estate in time before the General was awake and get about an hour of rest.

And that remained as her schedule for the next few days, working non-stop until one day, when something – _finally_ –

"Dead Aim," the General said as he looked up from his paperwork, surprise in his tone. Isabelle stood at the door, papers in hand, smiling and shaking all at once, her cheeks wet and her facial expression unreadable. "What happened?"

"I did it," she responded in a quiet, cracked voice. "I cracked the notes."

Then her emotions could finally be interpreted. She was relieved, sure, but she was devastated. There was nothing in the notes that gave her any sort of lead other than places to investigate and people to interview – blindly, even. The Elric Case was hopeless.

But, there was something else.

"So? What'd you find?" It was Havoc's voice, his hands paused before lighting a cigarette, all eyes fixed on her.

There was a pause. Isabelle looked down at the papers, rereading her translations that she had written on them; her mind was racing with the choice. _Tell them, or leave them be?_ What she uncovered in her genius of a father's notes would have made a breakthrough in alchemy – but was humanity ready for something like this? Would they be able to handle such a power?

She thought for a long time, the suspense holding dangling everybody on their toes by a thread. That is, until finally, she took a deep breath, and tossed the papers in the fireplace, letting them burn within the flames until nothing remained except ash and soot.

"There's a reason Papa encoded this in his research," she said finally. "Only those worthy enough to pursue it would be worthy enough to learn it. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you what was in those notes."

There remained a silence, a period where nobody knew what to say – what to even _think_ – until she heard a voice; a woman's voice, coming from behind her and taking her by the shoulder while she watched the fire flicker in the dark.

"We understand," the Lieutenant said.

That was the last time they talked about those notes that day.

* * *

It was the Lieutenant that was taking her home early that evening when everything was finished. Marcus stayed behind with the General, nobody knew the reason why. Isabelle was exhausted – all those all-nighters she spent working her brain to its limits tired her in the most excruciating way possible.

Her eyes burned, her limbs ached, and her brain was practically melting out of her ears. And yet, like all bad encounters, it happens at the worst place at the worst time. In this case, it was also whenever she was too tired to even tell the difference of right and wrong.

"Isabelle, keep close behind me," the Lieutenant ordered, her hand reaching to her holster on her hip. The girl nodded and obeyed. She felt it too.

That's when they heard a scream (more like a war cry, really) coming from above. The two women had just enough time to look up and dodge in opposite directions to avoid being severed with an axe.

Isabelle rolled over and lifted her head up, noticing the woman holding the axe turn and face her. What truly shocked the young girl was the fact that this woman that tried to kill her wore a State Alchemist uniform. "You must be the Dead Aim Alchemist," she took note as the wanted child pushed herself up to her hands and knees, scrambling to find her feet. Before the woman could continue her speaking, she heard a gun click behind her.

She smirked, then spun around to punch the Lieutenant in the stomach, only for her to leap backwards, a hand over her abdomen as her firearm was still raised. "Even if she is the Dead Aim Alchemist, you have no business with her. You take one more step in her direction and you'll regret it."

"Alright," the woman shrugged, her uniform making an all too familiar rustling sound, that only belonged to those blue garments. She didn't take a step toward Isabelle like she said, but she instead dashed toward the Lieutenant, axe in hand.

"Lieutenant!" Isabelle shouted, fumbling in her pockets for a weapon of any kind – only to find herself with nothing. The one time she neglected to arm herself of course had to have been the one time they were attacked.

Just her luck.

Immediately, she knelt back down to the ground, trying to scratch her nails into the cobblestone to make a circle, but nothing would etch in. That's when she began to bite her fingers.

The woman aimed for the Lieutenant's stomach again, every time she'd leap backwards, and their attacker noticed this with a smirk. "You keep protecting your abdomen, Lieutenant. What's cooking in there?" Isabelle wouldn't know what she was meaning until a little later. For now, she was only thinking of trying to protect Riza at all costs.

Nobody else was going to die or get hurt because of her.

"You know what," the woman stopped, pulling out a piece of chalk. She paused, almost in remembrance, staring at the chalk in a strange way before continuing to speak, "I think I know what's happening. I don't want to fight you anymore – I remember how hard it was."

That's when she promptly drew a circle onto the floor and pressed her hands against the circle, sparking a reaction, the cobblestone reaching up around the Lieutenant and then trapping her within a stone wall that extended towards the sky. There was no ceiling, only to allow air to enter, but it was so high up that she couldn't climb out.

"Get me out of here!" she cried, only for her voice to be drowned out by the walls. The woman then turned to face Isabelle, how had started to draw a transmutation circle into the ground with the blood that dripped from bite marks on her fingers.

"Persistent, aren't you?" she grinned as she strode towards the girl, still holding a tight grasp onto the axe in her hand. Dead Aim quickly started to try and transmute a weapon, only to be forced away to dodge decapitation.

"The hell is your deal, anyway? What have I done to piss you off and make you want to kill me?" Isabelle asked with a raised voice. _Then again,_ she thought, _I never really avoided it, did I?_

"Nothing to me personally, but I am on a mission," the woman said simply as she lifted her axe and chucked it toward the child. The girl ducked, avoiding being hit with the projectile, and then taking it for herself and doodling a transmutation circle on it. The woman charged after her to make sure her circle wouldn't be complete, "Nah, ah, that's not yours, love."

Isabelle went to run again, only for the traitor to trip her, sending her off balance on her feet and stumbling to the ground. She turned back, seeing her predator make her way towards her, and she quickly turned back and scurried to the transmutation circle she wasn't done drawing before. She placed her hands on the circle and created a spear, fumbling to keep it in her hands.

The Dead Aim Alchemist sprung to her feet, whipping around with the spear in her hand and immediately impaled the first thing it came in contact with – the woman's left lung. She stopped in place, dropping her weapon and coughing up blood instantly.

There was a pause – a stunned, equally horrified moment of silence where the two women just looked at each other, both in shock that a little girl was able to take a life so easily. Then the girl used the spear as leverage to push the rogue alchemist onto her back, not removing the weapon to keep her alive just some time longer.

Squeals of pain escaped the woman's throat as she reached toward her pocket and held a small bottle in her hand; it was the kind that doctors used to fill a syringe with liquid. "Take it," she croaked, her lip quivering, "inject it into my daughter at home. They'll come after her and take her away."

"Who's 'they?'" Isabelle asked the dying.

"They'll experiment on her, they'll torture her until it takes her life," she continued, her sentences growing faster in tempo to make sure everything was said before her own life will end, tears now stinging the brim of her eyes. "Please, inject this into her, it'll prevent that from happening. It'll clean her blood and make it unusable. This will save her; please, she's only two."

Isabelle nodded and took the liquid vial, then looked back at the woman, "who are these people?" she asked again. "Why would you work for them if they would do this to your child?"

"I didn't have a choice," she cried, "they made me."

"Who's 'they?'" Isabelle asked once more, her voice raised slightly due to being aggravated that this question was constantly skipped.

The woman swallowed hard, and simply said, "They call themselves Transmuters."

"What can you tell me about them? Anything! Anything, please – they might be the people that have–"

"–your family," she finished, her words becoming harder to create. "Yes, they have them, I believe, but at their main base."

Isabelle's heart skipped a beat and her breath stopped. All those countless hours where the girl struggled day in and day out trying to discover anything in her father's work, all those moments where she would almost have a mental breakdown from no progress. All those weeks were she searched so desperately for a lead, only for one to fall right on her lap.

 _They have my family!_

"Where is it?" she shouted, growing desperate as she noticed the woman's life began to slowly fade away, "Please, you have to tell me!" They looked each other in the eyes for just a moment, the State Alchemist giving her a look that told her everything: she was never told.

"At least tell me who you are, then," Isabelle asked, her voice growing softer, not as desperate. She had some confidence that what she had just learned meant that it won't be long before she finds them.

"My name is Ida. Ida Leene," she breathed out, removing the spear from her chest to quicken the end. "Tell my little Danielle something, please."

Isabelle felt indebted – even though she was already going to be doing so much for a soon to be dead woman, she felt that she wasn't doing enough. She told her who had her family, for fuck's sake, and she thought that she couldn't pay her back enough. In her eyes, she saw her mother, in her last moments before her murder, desperate and her children being the last and only things on her mind.

This time, Isabelle was the murderer.

Not wanting to think about it, the Dead Aim Alchemist nodded, simply saying, "of course."

"Tell her that Mommy will see her very soon," she managed to say, her last words hanging above her lips like fish bait. "I will see her when she wakes…"

She couldn't finish her sentence – the taste of blood the last thing that enticed her senses before she succumbed to the ultimate form of heartache.

* * *

Isabelle couldn't trace her emotions down to a single thought – it was more along the lines of everything was jumbled around in a giant clusterfuck of logic and feelings, all tangling around each other and intertwining without reason.

The first thing the Dead Aim Alchemist had done after Ida's death was break down the walls that had entrapped the Lieutenant. Before she had the opportunity to order the child still, she watched as the girl slipped from her to go carry out the State Alchemist's dying wish.

She kept her gun on her hip, ready to use it in case she was walking into a trap. There wasn't a single doubt in her mind that what she was doing was equal parts wrong as it was right – but she didn't quite realise how it would end up until it was too late for everybody. After Ida died, the girl had taken Ida's ID card and her keys, knowing that she'd need them in order to find her daughter.

When Isabelle reached the house, she used the house key, carefully turning the knob and peeking inside. She checked the corners first, gun now drawn and aimed, just in case if she were to suddenly be attacked. She shut the door behind her, then she heard quick footsteps run downstairs in excitement, "Mommy! You're home!"

 _She leaves her daughter alone?_

When she turned towards the stairs, Isabelle saw a little girl with bouncy hair make it to the bottommost step with a large grin on her face. When Danielle noticed that the woman standing before was indeed not her mother, her grin faltered, then faded altogether. "You're not Mommy."

Isabelle glanced over at the clock, noticing the late time, and drawing a conclusion that the child was supposed to be in bed. "No, babydoll, I'm not," she replied in a gentle voice and knelt down to the baby's height. She spoke in a voice similar to how her own mother would before bed, or how Marcus would when he would lull her to sleep after some awful nightmares; it was smooth, gentle, and nurturing. Altogether it was calm and soothing to the ears. "But your mother did tell me to come give you something. She said it's like medicine, it's supposed to make you be really healthy."

It was a lukewarm lie again.

The toddler glanced over, noticing the needle and liquid within the syringe, then slightly panicked, "I don't want a shot!"

"It won't hurt, I promise. Your Mommy said this should put you to sleep and make you healthy, and she said that she'll see you when you wake up," Isabelle said slowly and comfortingly, carefully taking the child by the arm and turning it so she can see the underside of her elbow. "She loves you very, very much."

"Will it hurt?"

"Not too much, babydoll, I promise."

There was a pause, and then the little girl nodded and shut her eyes very tight to help her make it through the prick of the needle. Isabelle was cautious while injecting the liquid into the child's bloodstream, making sure that there was no air in it so it wouldn't kill her. Once the vial was emptied, she was done.

For a moment, everything was quiet, neither of the two girls knowing what to do after that. That's when the older decided that she would take this younger child to the orphanage, and went to pick her up – that's when the coughing began.

Once it started, it wouldn't stop. Danielle collapsed towards the floor, only to be caught by Isabelle, who had just realised what was in that bottle. The liquid itself was clear, and she remembered how Ida said it would clean her daughter's bloodstream to make sure it wouldn't happen. It had a strange scent to it, almost like bleach.

That's when she knew.

"No, no, no, no," Isabelle frantically stammered as she scooped the girl into her arms and gently shook her, not gaining a single response from her. Her eyes were lifeless, her skin pale, and the colour that contrasted was the blood that had spewed from her mouth with every cough, staining her beautiful, infant skin.

 _I just killed a child._

Those words replayed themselves over and over again in Isabelle's mind. She seemed to forget that even though she was legal to do many things, she herself was still a child.

 _I'm a baby killer._

She stepped out of the house, carrying the little Danielle in her arms like a princess, only to be greeted with the General and his team outside the building, staring directly at her. She knew that she couldn't tell them all – it would have been equal parts stupid and suicidal. Swallowing hard, the Dead Aim Alchemist returned their stares, and spoke in a shaky voice, "They already got to her." While her emotion may have been true, her words were not. She looked at the Lieutenant, who had already known about this situation from being able to hear their conversations within the walls. "I didn't make it fast enough."

She stayed in her place, just the way she was; and by the end of her sentence, she was already shaking, the dead child trembling along with her in her arms. It felt that all heat had drained from her body, and she didn't know what to think. How to react.

 _I didn't mean to–!_

"Dead Aim," the General said carefully as he slowly began to walk up the steps, unsure how to react to what he was witnessing. He could only see her father – staring blankly at the stone steps shortly after Nina died. He could only hear his screaming. "Isabelle, give her to me," he said in a gentle commanding voice.

The girl glanced up at him, finally her hearing focusing on sounds and tones, but his still remained jumbled together. Three lives before this child in her arms were taken without a second thought or a care in the world – and yet, so it seemed, that this one (albeit, accidental) caused a chain reaction within her thought processes. This was just a little girl. This was just a _child._

It was a moment like this where Isabelle remembered that she was just a child, too.

* * *

From: _The Diary of the Dead Aim Alchemist, a Young Girl,_ by Isabelle Elric (East City University Press, 1951) pg. 252:

It felt like my world was ending all over again. Everything I had strived towards, everything that I swore to myself that I wouldn't become, just unravelled right in front of me in the form of liquid cyanide.

I don't remember much about what happened after she died. I remember lying to the General and his team. I remember my brother being in the car when the Lieutenant walking me down the porch steps. I vaguely remember a few questions, but the rest of my mind was clear in the thought I had just killed a baby. During the whole interrogation process, I remember someone telling me that I was handling this girl's murder very calmly and professionally, that it impressed them.

Do I really give off that vibe? I try to mirror the Lieutenant in that we make our emotions unreadable with our facial expressions. She taught me to do that – and that it would be handy in times where I shouldn't show any fear or regard whatsoever.

It seems that I learned.

My memory in-between the time of Danielle's death and arriving at the General's Estate was blurry. In which one would normally start to have a clearer memory of a hazy incident as time went on, but with me it wasn't the case. I only remember a few gargled statements, a long list of sounds strung together in forgotten words and discombobulated actions. I can't remember a damn thing.

I just remember the cold.

* * *

"You know, you were very brave out there today, Izzy," Marcus said as he sat down next to her in the living room back at the General's Estate. The Mustangs were discussing something privately in the dining room, their voices quiet enough so that they were still able to hear the Elric children talking to one another since there wasn't a wall to divide the sound.

"I killed her."

It was at those words, everything stopped. All voices and all actions, stopping and staring at the girl after her confession. Her words rendered them speechless, their thoughts stopping in mid-think to try and sort out what she had just said.

"What did you say?" The General asked slowly, a firm caution in his tone as he walked from where he and the Lieutenant are talking towards the girl on the couch that was too afraid and too out of it to even look back up at him. He had heard what she said, but he had to double check. Just to make sure that he wasn't losing his mind.

Isabelle swallowed hard. She wasn't sure how to respond to him, if she should at all. She was faced with a couple options on what to say, but she decided otherwise. She decided to just repeat her statement just as she said it before, and she just stared blankly at the carpet, focusing on not looking anywhere else.

They were stunned. How else were they supposed to react? They had already written Isabelle's lie into the case file, and they weren't sure where to begin with her punishment. "Isabelle–" the Lieutenant began, only to have her words trampled down.

"–I didn't mean to!" Isabelle shouted in a sudden outburst. It was if the pent up emotions over the past few murders finally seemed to sink in on her consciousness. She wasn't one to cry in front of people, if anything, she hated it; it made her feel weak. She remembered the last time she cried was after she almost lost her brother to the psychotic Smiley Face Killer. Before then, she couldn't recall when she cried any time before. The only thing worse than crying, in her opinion, was the pity others would feel toward her if she did. Because of this, she never cried in front of people often, if at all. And yet, it felt that this time she had no other choice. "I didn't mean to. Her mom gave me something to try and save her from those people, but I didn't know that it would kill her!"

Her tears were running without any assistance, her voice wavering as she spoke. Her hands were shaking and she wasn't able to form a solid sound without a lump in her throat. "I didn't want to kill her. I didn't mean to kill her. I didn't mean to."

Marcus reached over to take his sister's hands, but Isabelle had done the unexpected – she pushed him away. He couldn't make out the intentions behind her actions, but he could definitely make out the emotions that caused said actions: disgust. He didn't know if it was directed at him or if at herself, and due to the situation he assumed it would be the latter.

"I'm _sorry,_ " she choked. They pitied her, alright, and she hated every minute of it. In that moment, the Dead Aim Alchemist vowed to look for all other options before taking another man's life – and in that moment, it would be the last time Isabelle Elric would be seen crying. The next time Marcus would find her crying, she wasn't his sister.

* * *

I actually had intentions of adding more to this chapter, where Isabelle will have to be facing repercussions from the military, but seeing how long it was anyway, I decided to split it into the next chapter! Thank you guys so much for being patient with me, it really means a lot. Thank you so much for reading once again and I can't wait to get started on the next chapter!

-Elena


	12. Chapter Eleven: Other Elric Children Pt1

WARNINGS FOR: Language, mentions of death

Okay I really should have written a new chapter of my phanfiction, but this really had _me_ on edge. So I had to continue it. :P Y'all better be grateful I'm extending the hiatus of my other story to please you guys.

Anyway! I wanted to write this chapter differently. I tried to translate what I saw into my head and put it onto digital paper, and if it confused you, please let me know and I'll fix it up to where it's easier. Keep in mind as you read this jumps around between the court case itself and the events leading up to it, occasionally jumping from Isabelle to Edward and back, so if that helps at all. But as always, thank you guys so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

 **The Other Elric Children, Pt. 1**

"All rise."

There had never been so much noise in silence.

"Department One of the Superior Court is now in session. Judge Anthony presiding. Please be seated."

It was that same quiet noise as before. White noise. The kind of noise a baby would hear in the womb. The kind of noise that puts people to sleep at night.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Calling the case of the People of Central versus Isabelle. Are both sides ready?"

"Ready for the People, Your Honour."

"Ready for the defence, Your Honour."

It felt that half of the world was on one side of the court, the other half on the other.

"Will the clerk please swear in the jury?"

"Will the jury please stand and raise your right hand?"

White noise.

"Do each of you swear that you will fairly try the case before this court, and that you will return a true verdict according to the evidence and the instructions of the court, so help you, God?"

They were all out sync, and shaken. It was a case the world never wanted to see.

"You may be seated."

White noise.

* * *

"Isabelle, you know what this means, don't you?"

"I'll be hanged if the jury sees fit, sir."

"Exactly! This is why you shouldn't tell them! The People think it was murder from the same people that kidnapped Edward, Alphonse, and May. If they find out that it was _you_ that killed this little girl–"

"–Danielle. Her name is Danielle."

A pause.

"Danielle. Regardless, if The People found out a–"

"–Fuck the people."

"Isabelle! Do you not realise the gravity of the situation? They'll have you killed!"

"If that's the case, then so be it."

"You've lost your God damned mind. They'll show no mercy on you, Isabelle! They have no mercy on murderers. Especially if said murderer took the life of a _child!_ "

"They had mercy on you, General. And the Lieutenant. And many others during the war on Ishval. And you killed children, too."

There was a pause. A stunned one.

"I didn't kill children."

"Don't play bullshit with me, General, God damn it, I'm not stupid!"

Another pause.

"Can I just ask this: why, Isabelle? Why are you willing to risk your own life just to tell the People that you accidentally killed this child?"

"Because if we do end up finding this group and fighting against them, the people will know about it. The press is too far up our ass for us to back out now. They're all following the Elric Case, and this recent capture of my aunt only hooked them further in."

"So what's that got to do with this case?"

"The people will demand justice for Danielle. But if they come out and say they never took part in her murder, some people won't believe them, but others will get suspicious. It'll only be a matter of time before they find out. And when they do, they'll demand we tell them everything else we've been hiding. We either lose me or this nation to the riots this secret will cause."

"You're overreacting."

"It's not me that would overreact, it'll be the People."

"You're too smart for your own good sometimes, did you know that?"

"I was aware, sir."

The pause held on for longer than the last.

"Isabelle…"

"I know."

* * *

"Your Honour and ladies and gentlemen of the jury: the defendant has been charged with the murder of a two-year-old girl. The evidence will show itself to be obvious, since not only did the defendant admit to her crime, but also from the child's body itself."

"Your Honour and ladies and gentlemen of the jury: under the law my client is innocent until proven guilty."

"I don't think there's nothin' innocent about murder."

"Quiet, Isabelle, he's going through routine."

"During this trial, you will hear no real evidence against my client. You will come to know the truth: that Isabelle was manipulated into committing the crime. She was given a vial with the hopes of saving this young child, not kill her."

"The Prosecutor may call its first witness."

"The People call Diana Payne to the stand."

"Please raise your right hand. Do you promise that the testimony you shall give in the case before this court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, God?"

"I do."

"Please state your first and last name, your title, and your ranking."

"My name is Diana Payne, I am the Ironheart Alchemist, and I am a fellow detective within the Investigations Department."

"Please spell your last name for the record."

"Peeehwhyenee," she said, all at once.

"Diana, did you work with Isabelle?"

"Yes."

"Did you work with her while these State Alchemist murders took place?"

"For a few of them, yes."

"So she did not kill a State Alchemist?"

"No, but she does kill."

"What are some examples of this claim?"

"That shapeshifting chimera–"

"–Objection Your Honour, she killed him in order to save my life. I gave her direct orders to run, but she fought back instead."

"Please be seated General Mustang you will have your chances for questions later. In the meantime, let Miss Payne continue her testimony. Miss Payne, is it true that Isabelle shot that chimera to protect her superior officer?"

"He wasn't her superior officer then."

"You're right, I was her godfather."

"General please keep your comments to a minimum."

"It is known fact that the General was her legal guardian at that time, and still is due to the absence of her family. Were you aware of this?"

"I was."

"Would it be unreasonable to think that Isabelle shot the chimera to protect him, what little family she had left?"

"He's not her family."

"Listen here, bitch, you can go fuck yourself with your twisted ideas about family!"

"Isabelle, please sit down and control your language. Even though he isn't, he still was taking care of her, and grew a bond with her. Wouldn't you want to protect someone you cared about and shared a bond with, even if that meant taking another man's life?"

"I would."

"Then there was no intent of malice behind her actions there. Was there any other pieces of evidence you had against Isabelle?"

"I do. She also killed the Smiley Face Killer."

"Were you aware why she did?"

"To stop him."

"To stop him, yes, but to protect her brother Marcus, who, was held captive as his newest victim. If she arrived any later, he probably would have been another statistic in the Smiley Face Killer's case. Now, unlike the General, Marcus _is_ her family. Would you not do anything to protect your family?"

"I would do anything to protect my family."

"Exactly. Why is her case any different? It's not, isn't it?"

"She killed another before this one."

"Now, the next person she killed was Danielle's mother, Ida, but do you know why this is so?"

"Yes sir."

"Why is it?"

"Because Ida attacked her and Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"Correct. Not only was she attacking someone she cared about, but also herself. Would you try to defend yourself, Miss Payne?"

"I would."

"And someone you love?"

"I would."

"Then the past three murders you tried to use against her were already justified. Why do you believe that Isabelle would kill a two-year-old child just because?"

"After you kill someone, they say it gets easier every time. I think she got blood-hungry."

"For a two-year-old?"

"You know; you'll be surprised how sick the Elrics can get."

"Your Honour I believe that Miss Payne is testifying against Isabelle just because she carries her father's last name. I believe it's solely for the sake of discrimination."

"It's not discrimination if I'm telling the truth."

"I have no further questions for you."

"Does the defence have any questions?"

"Not at this time, Your Honour."

"The witness is excused. The prosecution may call its next witness."

White noise.

"The People call the arresting officer."

* * *

"You know; jail is a lot comfier that it looks. It's not home by any means, but not as bad as I thought."

A faint humming of pipes. A cracking of knuckles faintly down the hallway trail. A soft sigh from the General.

"Isabelle, I just remembered, what about the Elric Case? If you lose and if you're executed, what'll happen then? I don't believe that your family would want to come home to find that you've been tried and executed."

"Marcus knows everything I know, but that's if I lose. A big if."

"What makes you think you'll be found innocent?"

"You think that I think I'll be found innocent? Are You saying you weren't found guilty during your own trials? Come on General, they spared you. You already have to deal with your punishment."

"I wasn't given one."

"Yes you were. It's the times when you'd wake up in a cold sweat and a panic because you were triggered by rolling thunder. It's the times when we'd start a fire in the fireplace or outside, when you'd have to go inside for a moment, just to remind yourself that what you're seeing isn't human ashes."

"How do you know about all that?"

"Because I see it too."

* * *

"Please raise your right hand. Do you promise that the testimony you shall give in the case before this court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, God?"

"I do."

"Please state your name, your title, and your ranking."

"My name is Isabelle Elric, I am the Dead Aim Alchemist, and I am a detective."

"You may be seated."

She does so. White noise again, but this time, fainter; coming from only one body instead of several dozen.

"Please spell your last name for the record."

"You already know how it's spelled."

Murmurs.

"Isabelle, you confessed to killing this child, did you not?"

"I did."

"You are a minor, it's only polite that you address me as sir. Then why did you lie on the site when her body was recovered?"

"I would have been arrested on the spot, sir. There would have been no trial, no mercy. I wouldn't have had a chance to tell my side of the story, since the world would have been so quick to crucify me. In short, I lied to buy myself some time."

"Why did you choose this particular group of people to blame for this murder, the Transmuters?"

"Ida told me they were the people that killed my mother and had the rest of my family in captivity somewhere. She told me that these people would do unspeakable things to her daughter since she would be no longer alive to protect her. Ida made it clear that this group of people was not above experimenting on children until they die. They seemed like a reasonable group to blame."

"Why were you so eager to inject this girl with a syringe of unknown liquid?"

"Because this woman had just told me who had my family – she gave me a lead that I'm now able to make progress with. And, to save her daughter. My mother's dying words to me and my brother Marcus were for us to save ourselves; and I knew that she wanted us safe at all costs. All mothers want their children to be safe. Ida is no exception."

"Did you believe that you were sincerely helping the little girl when you were given the syringe?"

"Her name is Danielle."

"Answer the question. Did you believe that you helped her?"

"I did. I thought I was going to protect her from this group of people."

"What was the first thing you did when you realized that it was poison?"

"By the time I realized, it was too late."

"Then what did you do?"

"I'd rather not say."

"She cried, sir."

"General I hate that I did that and I hate that you said that."

"Isabelle, back to the questions. Why did you cry?"

"I accidentally killed a two-year-old girl and you ask me why I started crying? Isn't that a ridiculous question, _sir?_ "

"I'm trying to sympathise with you."

"I don't want your sympathy. What I want is for the People to know what happened. And I have said what happened."

"Well, thank you, Isabelle. I have no further questions and no further witnesses, Your Honour."

"Does the prosecution have any questions?"

"I do, Your Honour. Both you and the General have mentioned that this Ida woman told you that this group has your family and that it's a huge lead for the Elric Case. Tell me, what exactly have you found so far regarding the Transmuters?"

"Nothing yet."

"So this information was false?"

"I'm not sure."

"How are you not sure?"

"Well, considering I've been locked up in a jail cell for the past few days, I haven't had the time to look over my evidence and is correlation with the Elric Case."

"What do you believe will happen if we let you off this case, but the evidence you look into proves itself to be in fact false?"

"Then that means I've been played like a fool sir, and so have you."

"What do you mean so have I?"

There rang a silence.

"What do you mean?"

"I can't answer that."

"Why not?"

"The General requested that I don't say it."

"And why not, General Mustang?"

"Because it will hurt your ego."

Noise. Noise, noise, noise. Noise and ruckus and banging of a hammer.

"Order! Order in the court!"

"I have no further questions, Your Honour."

"The witness is excused. Does this define rest?"

"Yes, Your Honour. For now, anyway."

* * *

"What do you want this time?"

The Elric brothers by this point were struggling to keep up with their own day to day rituals that their captor would put them through. They hadn't slept in a week, they were weak, they were awake – one had never seen two bastard orphans in need of a break.

"Nothing, tonight. I want you both to watch something with me," as he spoke, two of his workers dressed in uniform were unhooking them from the walls. It felt nice to have the clasps undone for once, and they haven't walked in so long that it would be a wonder if they could muster up the balance to do it again. In Alphonse's case, they had to box his hands around wood, an alchemist's handcuffs, so that he wouldn't transmute while being transferred.

He turned his head toward Edward, his eyes glaring a hole through his bangs that strung low in his face. "It's about your precious little…what did you call her, 'babygirl?'"

Isabelle had been in the news so much lately that it terrified him, and this only made him more scared. _Isabelle!_

"You bastard," he spat, trying to wrestle against the solder that held him still, "if you have her – if you laid one finger on a hair on her head–!"

"–Relax, Fullmetal, I wasn't that lucky. But yet it seems, neither was she."

"I swear to God–"

"–Ed, please." The older brother turned his head to make eye contact with the younger, only to find a sad hope in his eyes. "If he doesn't have her, then he didn't do anything to her. Remember that he wants us all _alive._ Isabelle's alright."

Edward kept his eyes locked with Alphonse's for a moment, before he let out a deep breath and turned away, letting himself be drug up the stairs. His brother wasn't only worried about his niece and nephew, but his fiancée. After their captor had shown the brothers that the Princess was in his custody, they hadn't seen her since – and it worried them so much.

It made Edward think of his wife.

 _What must Winry think of all this? Is she okay?_

That was a question he was sure that he would ask her when he saw her again. He knew that he and his brother and May were all going to get out – he was sure of it.

However, what he didn't know was that his wife wouldn't be there waiting for him. She wouldn't be there at all. Where she was, he couldn't reach. Lost somewhere high up in the clouds – in a different plane – in a world he couldn't find on a map, in a life he could only reach hereafter.

Lost in the afterlife.

Upstairs, they were immediately blindfolded, and spun around three times before being forced to walk in specific directions towards their captor's office. When they walked in, their blindfolds were removed, only to be greeted by furniture that was much too expensive for them to afford, technology they had never seen, and a small woman with black hair.

"May!" Alphonse tried to leap forward, regardless of his restraints, but he was yanked back by the henchmen. Their captor dismissed it, saying that he was free to do so. Instead, she ran to him, and this was allowed, since she was left unrestrained and free to roam around unlike the brothers. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled his body to hers immediately, her fingers intermingled into his hair, which had grown much since their last meeting, and her nose resting in the crook of his neck. His arms were around her too, connected at the wrists by a block of wood, but god damn it he didn't care at this point. It was only allowed to last for a moment, before they were ordered to separate, so they did, May giving him one tender kiss before she had to step away.

"I want you three to see something you might find interesting," their captor said, walking to an electrical appliance that was in front of the small sofa. "It's called a television; it allows you to see radio broadcasts live on screen."

He flicked it on, and the first thing that they saw was black and white. Grainy shapes were made, and he scoffed, adjusting the antennae until the signal was the best they could make it. The sound came from it was slightly static at first as well, until the adjustments made it clearer. The first thing they saw was a small girl take the stand in a courtroom.

"Wait, is that–?" Edward leaned forward to the screen, starting to recognize the girl.

"Please spell your last name for the record," the court reporter said.

There was a brief pause, as if the girl was contemplating how to respond, but she decided by looking directly at the reporter and speaking in a deadly serious voice, "You already know how it's spelled."

This caused some murmurs within the court, but it died down really quickly to the public defence lawyer asking questions. _Her voice changed,_ Edward thought, _but why?_ He knew that Resembool wasn't seen as the most intelligent of areas in Amestris, but he still felt pride in it nonetheless. He had a gnawing feeling that he already knew why she forced herself to speak like the rest of the world.

"Isabelle, you confessed to killing this child, did you not?"

This struck shock within the office, except for their captor, who was grinning ear to ear. A couple gasps were audible from the fiancées, but Edward's voice lodged in his throat. _Please, Isabelle, please, for this one time let this be a sick joke. Let this be some ultimate plan that you had and that you really didn't take a child's life–_

"I did."

"The child in question was two years old," their captor sighed as he walked towards the television and turned it off. "Her mother was a worker of mine, the poor thing. Your daughter killed her, too."

Edward didn't see Isabelle as the type to murder in cold blood, and he knew something was missing in regards to this situation. She was provoked, somehow, in regards to the mother. But as for the child… "Turn it back on. I don't believe you."

The kidnapper just smiled, shrugging smugly and said, "suit yourself," before swiftly switched the set back on. The image on the screen had to focus after some adjustments, but it continued.

"Did you believe that you were sincerely helping the little girl when you were given the syringe?"

"Her name is Danielle," Isabelle interrupted, bluntly. That's one thing she was either admired or hated for was her blatant honesty.

"Answer the question," the lawyer sighed, as if he had to deal with her responses before. "Did you believe that you helped her?"

"I did. I thought I was going to protect her from this group of people."

It made Edward wonder, how close was she to figuring out this group of people that had him and the rest of her family? Does she know the group's name yet? Has she heard of the leader that took them? How far along this case was she?

"What was the first thing you did when you realized that it was poison?"

"By the time I realized, it was too late."

"Then what did you do?"

"I'd rather not say."

There was a moment of silence, before the camera panned to the next person who spoke. It was the General, standing up as he spoke and sitting back down when he finished, a sadness in his voice, "She cried, sir."

 _That sounds more like Isabelle. That sounds like my daughter. Trying to help. She always tried to help. Things just got bad. Really bad._

He turned to face his brother, who was also as relieved as he was. Alphonse knew Isabelle in ways that not even his own wife had – since he was her alchemy teacher. Her father could only teach so much, but as far as hands-on experience, that belonged to the younger Elric brother.

"Alphonse, what's going to happen to her?" May asked, "Even if it was an accident and she was proven innocent?"

The question hung low in their hearts and carried on their minds until they could watch the end of the trial.

* * *

"Will the jury foreperson please stand? Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

Heavy silence.

"The jury finds the defendant guilty."

* * *

And so I will leave this chapter here! There's more to come, but I hope you liked it! Thank you so much for your patience and thank you so much for reading!

-Elena


	13. Chapter Twelve: Other Elric Children Pt2

WARNINGS FOR: Language, mentions of death

Boy, was I busy. Just letting you know, I had my wisdom teeth removed on September 9th (in fact, I have 5 teeth; err, _had_ five teeth, more like), and I'm still in recovery. And I put on my last fall play on the 23rd-25th, which got very, very emotional. But anyway, enough with my rambling. I have good news! I just got accepted to Ball State University, and so in fall of 2017 I'll be going there! It's so exciting! Now I'm in the process of trying to apply for every scholarship I can so :P Thank you again so much for reading this and for your love and support! I hope you enjoyed it!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve**

 **The Other Elric Children, Pt. 2**

"The jury finds the defendant guilty."

All eyes were on her. So were the cameras. And the lights. And the people behind the television screen.

Edward stood stunned, a shock swept across his mind and body – the little girl he knew to help raise wasn't the same child anymore. She was a confirmed murderer, about to be murdered herself.

"They can't kill her," Alphonse stammered out. His thoughts, unlike his brother's, were racing. He couldn't stop thinking. "Brother, remember Lieutenant Maria Ross? He didn't kill her. He wouldn't let them kill Isabelle. He wouldn't…"

His voice trailed off, the television screen flicked to focus on the teenager in question, her face unreadable, and yet her eyes were. She was scared. The camera didn't capture her fists clenching beneath the table, resting firmly on her lap and starting to shake a little. The viewers behind the screen could see the General shift one of his arms slightly to the side, but they couldn't see him rest his hand on top of one of his goddaughter's knuckles.

She glanced over at the hand that was placed on top of her shaking fist, then her eyes trailed up the long blue sleeve to make eye contact with Roy. He wasn't quite to her father's level, who could communicate with her just by a glance, so he just moved his lips in subtlety, no sound escaping his throat. "Everything is going to be fine, I promise."

They both looked back to the judge, who seemed to dislike the answer the jury had given as well. The court was in an uproar, half of the people cheering in success, and the other half screaming that it was an injustice.

"What's better than the murder of one girl? The murder of _two_ little girls," their captor just sighed, shaking his head with a grin and looking back towards the small remnants of her family, the scar on his eye was seething through their souls. "I'd suppose you all would like to watch her execution?"

"However," came a voice from the television. They turned back to the screen, and it was the same man from the jury as before. He was not finished speaking. Once the noise died down, he continued, "while she may be proven guilty, we the jury believe that miss Isabelle Elric has already served her punishment. No further action is needed."

The roars in the court stirred again, except both sides flipped in which part they were screaming in. The camera couldn't get a clear shot on Isabelle, but once bodies cleared away from the lens, the machine was able to zoom in on the girl, who had laid her head on the table, arms covering her face as the General was speaking incoherently to her in her ear, rubbing her back carefully. He'd say something that the camera couldn't hear, and she would either faintly nod or shake her head. She did not rise from that position. Not until the crowd was reduced to three other people – the only people that she knew.

* * *

It took a few days before Isabelle was finally allowed to return to her station in the Investigations Office. The only one that dared to talk to her was the Lieutenant Colonel, and even then he seemed fairly distant, as if he didn't know how to feel about the situation. Diana Payne refused to show up, having turned in her pocket-watch and too scared to confront the girl she accused so harshly.

It was clear that she wasn't wanted.

The next day after she returned to the military headquarters, the Lieutenant Colonel had requested that she stayed with the General until tensions cleared. Surprisingly, he agreed. Unlike Fletcher's prediction, however, this did not lower any tensions – if anything, it made soldiers wryer around the girl.

Team Mustang seemed to be the only ones that looked at her civilly, much less took the time to talk to her. Isabelle stopped caring.

"General, I think I should leave."

The General stopped writing onto his papers he was trying so desperately to finish last-second. His eyes looked up and met hers, seeing that the girl was dead serious about her idea. "Why do you think so?"

"I want people to forget about me for a while. I won't be gone too long, but clearly people are uncomfortable with me here," Isabelle explained, glancing over at Havoc as he lit himself another cigarette. She wanted to try one, and she knew she was old enough. "And besides, I have a few leads that require me to go out of Central. I have a few people at a few places in mind."

"Where are they?" The General asked, thinking for a moment, then continuing to speak after a brief pause. " _Who_ are they?"

"Various people in various places," she explained, thinking of a few examples, "Some even go as far out as Creta."

This caught the Lieutenant's attention. She turned towards her superior officer, then towards her subordinate.

"Who the hell is in Creta?" Roy wondered out loud, trying to think of any location that might have any remote significance to the Elric Case.

"I dunno, some girl. Papa and Alphonse knew her. Granted it was brief, but I'm trying to find everyone they had contact with for longer than a day," Dead Aim replied, flipping through her small notepad of leads. She found the name she was looking for, struggling on the pronunciation of the woman's surname. "Her name was Julia Crichton?"

"There is no way in hell I'm letting you go to someplace as hostile as Table City," the General snapped, immediately remembering the name and the fiasco that happened many years before.

"You can allow me or not, but I'm still going. I'm taking Marcus with me."

"Do what now?" Marcus turned from his work table to face his sister as she had lost her mind. Shortly after the Smiley Face Killer case, Marcus had graduated from his apprenticeship. He was able to get a steady start on his own, and the General happily gave him a little area in his office. He hadn't changed locations since. "Izzy, you do realise that I'm not necessarily on board with this whole 'up and leaving the country just for the off-chance that someone might know where Dad is' situation, right?"

Isabelle turned to face her brother, a deadly look of 'we're doing this whether you like or not' strikes him in the eyes. "Even if she may not have any leads on where Papa is, there's still the possibility on someone in Creta having a connection with the Transmuters."

Marcus didn't say anything in return, he just ran his hands up his face and through his hair, groaning loudly as his response. She knew he was going to come with her anyway, but she knew that he didn't like it in the least bit. At this point, she didn't really care.

The Elric daughter turned back towards her godfather, her tone demanding and serious – she wasn't going to back down. "So, General," she continued, almost as if he hadn't said anything at all. "All I need are some signed papers."

"Isabelle, you know damn well that Amestris and Creta don't have the best history and Table City isn't the best place to go," the General started to ramble, "Maybe you should go to other places first and wait until things get better in the future–"

"–Oh, for fuck's sake, General. How will I know if it will really get better in the future?" Isabelle asked. "Or will it just get worse?"

There was a pause. A silence. He knew he had been beat.

"General, I'll take them papers."

* * *

So much light. Daylight. All the time.

Isabelle felt as if she was floating on the light, the rays resting on her skin softer than a cloud, her body unflinching.

"Izzy?" called out a voice from her kitchen.

 _Mama._

It felt as though her body was so heavy that she didn't even want to get up. The familiar sounds of Resembool echoed around the Elric household. She could only think of her mother. The soothing voice that lulled her to sleep, the simple, graceful movements her hands would sway when she peeled apples, the warmth of her blood and how painful it was when she felt it fling across her face.

 _Mama._

"Izzy, the General will be here any minute."

"The General?" Isabelle sat up from her bed, groggy and weak. Her arms felt heavy as she flung her legs around the bed to sit up.

"He's coming for your birthday party. Did you fall asleep?"

Isabelle looked over at the calendar on her wall. _October 15_ _th_ _, 1939._ "The General ain't comin' for my fourteenth, Mama."

"Of course he is," Winry smiled as she opened the curtains, letting the light shine in it's entirely. Her daughter preferred the light to come in rays instead of all at once.

But she never got what she preferred.

"Am I dead?" The alchemist turned to look the mechanic eye to eye, but she just shook her head with a warm smile.

"No baby, just dreaming."

The mother and daughter joined bodies in an embrace – a hug that lasted just a few seconds, but it felt like hours. She missed this. She missed this so damn much. The door shook and vibrated with two knocks that came with it, and they pulled apart. Winry turned towards the knocking, keeping her smile, "that must be the General," she said, walking to the door and opening it.

But it wasn't the General, by any means. In stepped her father, his hair slicked back and kept up while his coat hung over his arm. He removed his hat and smiled, setting it off somewhere for it to never make an appearance again. "Hey, Izzy," Edward spoke in a warm tone. He took his daughter's cheeks in his hands and tilted her head up, kissing her forehead gently. "Happy birthday."

"It's not my birthday, Papa." Isabelle never noticed this before, but since living with the General, her odd way of saying Papa had been replaced with the average pronunciation. She trained herself well.

"Sure it is," Winry smiled. "I almost forgot to sing it to you!" She playfully hit herself on the forehead as if to say "silly me!" and proceeded to sing the birthday song.

"Mama, don't do that!"

It seemed just as if she said it, shots were fired. Winry's head knocked to the side, her body falling on top of her daughter and the blood smacking her across the face. Isabelle shrieked.

"Oh now look at what you've done, Isabelle! She's bleedin' all over the presents!"

Isabelle's whole body was shaking, her eyes stung and began to fill with tears as she looked down at her mother. "I'm sorry, Mama, I guess I shouldn't have said anything."

"I didn't say anything either," came a voice from the side of the bed. When she turned her head, she found herself to be face to face with a little girl who was about two years old, her pigtails in cute little curls and her cheeks a rosy pink. "But I died just fine."

"I didn't mean to kill you!" The Elric daughter screamed, her voice lodging in her throat. "It was an accident! It was all an accident! I didn't want to kill you! I didn't chose to kill you; I didn't chose to take your life!"

"Sure you did, Izzy," Danielle sighed as she injected a strange liquid into her arm. "Sure you did."

Isabelle didn't even have time to react this time, since Danielle already had started to spew blood from her mouth and cough violently, falling to the ground. She cried out again, turning to face her father with a desperate tone in her voice, "Papa! Make it all stop!"

"You better hurry," Edward just shook his head, pointing to himself. "Or I'm next."

"Papa! Make it all stop!" She repeated, the next words repeating in her head for at least the next week, in and out of her dreams.

"No problem! What's one more murder for the Dead Aim Alchemist?"

* * *

Isabelle's eyes snapped open as her upper body flung upwards, her words caught at the tip of her tongue, only for her to swallow them back down and erase them from existence. Never to be seen again. She looked around, her body trembling and panting from what her subconscious had just forced her to witness. She was in her bed, in her room, at the General's Estate, the quiet noise of Central buzzing carefully through the crack in her window.

 _Marcus._

The girl could only think of the last little bit of family she had left – her brother. She needed him, right then and there, and she was going to find him. Even if she slept on the floor next to his bed, it still made her feel better than being alone. Granted, she loved being alone, but not like that. Not like this.

Quietly, Isabelle crept out of her bed and used her socks to cushion the sound of her tiptoeing to her brother's room, where she slowly turned the doorknob all the way before carefully pushing it open. Peeking inside, she saw that he was asleep as well, and knew by the look on his face that it wasn't a nightmare.

 _Thank God._

The sister was careful enough to climb into the bed without disrupting his sleep, but she wasn't sure how she would manage to get herself under the covers. She decided to risk being chilled overnight and just curled up into a ball on his bed, by his side. She noticed that he let his hair grow out a little, at least enough to cover the back of his neck, but not shaggy either. Isabelle felt a pang in her heart. She knew why.

To close off her mind and her thoughts, Isabelle shut her eyes. When she would wake up in the morning, she would find herself completely covered in the duvet, her brother kept out of the warmth as he held her tightly, dreading the day that he'd have to let go. He held her so tightly, she could almost feel his heartbeat.

And it was still beating.

* * *

"Rise and shine!"

"Am I late? I set the alarm."

"We have five thousand soldiers to make before breakfast. Up, up, up! It's all for the war effort."

"Please, I'm so very tired."

"Don't complain, good soldiers never complain."

"But I'm dying."

"And who isn't?"

* * *

"You remember Miss Hughes, right Izzy?"

Isabelle turned to face the Lieutenant, who was fixing her hair for an event later on in the evening. "I remember Elicia, yes," she replied. The Lieutenant took her by her cheeks and forced her to face forward again as she kept trying to do a new braid she read about in a magazine.

"She's coming too," Riza pulled at another strand of her hair to finish the braid before she tied it at the end.

There was a pause where the girl sitting in front of her just nodded, before Hawkeye sighed in aggravation and started to rip the girl's hair out of the braid she had done, running the brush through her hair to fix it. It didn't look right, so she just did a simple three-strand-under braid as she had once done before. It was a moment after she finished this before the girl decided to speak to break the silence. "Lieutenant?"

"Yes?"

"I thank God every day that you didn't take up a career at a hair salon."

The Lieutenant pursed her lips together and smacked Isabelle upside her head in response to her statement, prompting giggles from the little alchemist. "Brat," she mumbled.

"Lieutenant?" Isabelle asked again.

The woman took a deep breath, expecting another smart-ass comment to follow what she said earlier. "Yes?"

"Why are you doing this?" Isabelle asked, her voice tired and uninterested. "I'm just going away for a while. You don't have to–"

"–There's more being celebrated than what you think," she said simply.

"Like what?" Isabelle asked, turning back to face the adult.

The Lieutenant didn't say anything, as if she was debating on telling her the news yet. She decided otherwise, and she just simply shook her head, rubbing the child's shoulders with her hands and growing a smile, "You'll find out tonight."

* * *

"How's her health?"

"She seems to be getting worse, sir."

"Have you given her medication?"

"Just about as much as she can take."

"Doesn't that normally help her?"

"Not if she's overworking herself."

"Overworking?"

"Transmuting soldiers, for sixteen hours a day, every day, with only half hour breaks…it's not the average office desk job, sir."

"What are you suggesting, Mr. Ryder? That I should have her _stop_ making my soldiers?"

"It might be best, sir."

"Do you realise that putting a halt on this project would have a chain reaction on _everything_?"

"Yes, sir."

"And your suggesting that I should risk it?"

"…yes, sir."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. You must have had too much to drink, kid."

"I'm completely sober, sir."

"Then you better give me a damn good reason why I should listen to your proposal."

"Think about it. May has been the only person that we managed to work on this project. If this illness ends up killing her, then what? We have nobody else."

"We have the Elrics."

"One can't use alchemy anymore and the other blatantly refuses no matter what we do to him. Seriously, sir. I'm starting to question why you even keep these brothers when they are no use to you."

"Oh, they're useful to me."

"How so?"

"They're leading their daughter right into the palm into my hand."

"What makes you think the Dead Aim Alchemist will work for you?"

"She'll work for whoever if her family is questioned."

"…Sir, you always impress me with your smarts."

"It's not smarts, dear boy. It's just a game of chess. You always have to think six steps ahead."

"I understand where you're coming from, but you have to listen to me. We may end up getting Isabelle in the future, but think about right now. Right now there's nobody else. But, if we just hold the project until she's restored back to her health, they'll be a delay, sure, but we'll be guaranteed someone to make more soldiers."

"General Mustang might be a considerable candidate."

"It's too risky on the country of Amestris right now. It's too risky of a catch, too. The last time we tried to snag him, That Girl killed them. Who knows what other soldiers have been trained to protect him now because of it."

"How about that one alchemist I read about in those reports you showed me from a couple decades ago? Mr. Shou Tucker? He's good with chimera."

"Mr. Tucker died the same night he was caught by the military police."

"You're really limiting my options."

"I'm not sorry."

"I don't want to pause this project. We're making such good progress."

"It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. Are you?"

"…Put a halt on the C-SEFT. project. Get Princess Chang a doctor."

* * *

Isabelle hated parties. She absolutely hated them. She could feel it in every fibre of her being, and there was nothing she could do to numb it. She never really liked them before her fourteenth, but after that whole incident, she wanted nothing to do with them.

It happened to be just her luck that she found herself cooped up in one that she couldn't escape from. She was thankful that there weren't that many other people, but she still didn't want to be in this situation.

The party took place at the Estate, everybody there thinking that it was a going-away party for Isabelle to wish her good luck on the Elric Case (and they knew there was a surprise, but they didn't know what it was). Many came as an excuse to socialize after a long while, but the Mustangs had something else in mind.

Isabelle awkwardly followed her brother around through the entire event, wishing for it to be over and mumbling out any words that she was forced to speak.

"Oh, Isabelle, you've gotten to be so big!"

"I haven't seen you since you were just a little girl."

"Look at you, you're looking more and more like your father."

"You look so much like your mother."

"Aw sweetie! You're just as shy as I remembered!"

"Have you lost weight?"

"You should eat a little more, and you could pass off as those supermodels in the magazines."

"Dear, are you alright? You look sickly."

"You're still the same beautiful baby girl as you were fourteen years ago."

Isabelle found the idea of drinking liquid bleach to be more favourable than socializing with most of these people. She was comfortable with some, sure, and she was tolerating a few, but the rest she either didn't know or didn't care to know about. Therefore, the last thing she wanted to do was talk to them.

She managed to slip through the crowd and sit at the bar that divided the living room from the kitchen and dining room. The General was behind there, serving drinks for his guests, a couple of his closer friends just standing back there beside him and catching up.

"General, may I get a drink?" Isabelle asked with a straight face. The General turned to look at her as if she was crazy, but not dismissing the option, knowing full well that she was legal enough to do so with adult supervision.

He leaned onto the bar and glanced around before looking at her. "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah," Isabelle replied very matter-of-factly, "the whole idea of me talking to people. I would like for you to whip up the best batch of bleach you have and pour a glass. Set that glass aside and then give me the rest of the litre."

"Izzy," Mustang sighed with disapproval in his tone as he set a glass aside in preparation for a drink.

"Right," the girl shrugged before turning towards the Lieutenant. "Say, Lieutenant, what's your favourite drink?"

The woman paused for a moment, thinking about the various different drinks she had tried in her life. She couldn't really pick a favourite, so she decided to tell the girl a drink she had been craving for a while, "A mudslide."

The fourteen-year-old turned back to her godfather, gesturing to the Lieutenant as if what she said was law. The General just chuckled, rustling through the cabinets to mix together what he'd need, and if he couldn't find what he'd need, he'd improvise. Having a guardian that worked in a bar had its benefits.

Once he mixed it together, he decorated the glass and slid the finished product to the girl. He had sized down the drink, as it normally ran large, but he made it smaller because of the consumer in question.

Isabelle took a sip – creamy, chocolatey, almost like a coffee. It was like a mocha, and it stifled a small laugh from the child. Of course the Lieutenant liked this drink.

The Elric slid the drink towards the Lieutenant out of a kind gesture, suggesting that she should have some. Hawkeye shook her head while making a subtle gesture of cutting across her neck with her hand. "I can't have it, but thank you."

"Can't have it? What are you, pregnant?"

This clearly shocked the Lieutenant, and by the look on her face, Isabelle had figured it out too early and too easily. She had ruined the surprise!

"Wait," Isabelle said in a voice too loud, "You're actually pregnant?"

She didn't realise exactly how loud she had spoken, because the next thing she knew there was audible gasps in the room. When she looked around, she found the entire room had been staring at her.

The Lieutenant sighed, turning to her new audience, "Well, surprise."

* * *

"I'm sorry I ruined your party, Lieutenant."

"You didn't ruin it, Izzy."

"But I spoiled the surprise."

"I was going to tell them soon enough anyway. Don't worry about it, you didn't know any better."

"How long have you known?"

"A month or so."

"So what is it?"

"I won't know until it's born."

"When will it be born?"

"Either in December or January, depending on how long this baby wants to stay in."

"What are you going to name it?"

"If it's a girl, the General was going to choose the first name and I choose the middle name. If it's a boy, it's vice versa."

"Why didn't the General want to name it if it were a boy?"

"Well, he would have named him Hughes."

"Why not Maes?"

"Marcus has that name."

"And what's wrong with Hughes?"

"I didn't want him to live with that, just like how your mother didn't want your father to live every day with his children named Maes or Nina."

"So what name did he pick for a girl? And the middle name for the boy?"

"Go ask him about the girl, but as for the boy, he would still have the middle name be Hughes."

"What about you?"

"For the girl, I chose the middle name to be Annaliese. If it's a boy, I've been thinking Ben."

"Short for Benjamin?"

"I didn't think about that. Benjamin is nice."

"They're nice names."

"Thank you."

"Congratulations, Lieutenant. I'm very happy for you."

"Thank you."

* * *

From _A Letter if I Should Die_ , by Marcus Elric (Central Library: 1940), p. 1:

 _Hello,_

 _We haven't talked in quite some time._

 _I know I haven't been the best of sons. I know I've been traveling – from deserts to my mind. But I haven't found a drop of life, of water, of you._

 _I tried to leave it all behind me. But I woke up, and there they were beside me. I don't believe it, but I guess it's true, some feelings they can travel too._

 _There it is again, sitting on my chest, makes it hard to catch my breath; I scramble for the light of change. You're always on my mind._

 _You're always on my mind._

 _Now I never minded being on my own. Then something broke in me, and I wanted to go home. To be where you are, and even closer to you, you seem so very far._

 _And now I'm reaching out with every way I can. I hope it gets to you on some specific wind – wraps itself around you and whispers in your ear – tells you that I miss you and I wish that you were here._

 _If I stay home, I don't know there'll be so much that I'll have to let go. You're disappearing all the time, but I still see you in the light. Isabelle sees you in the dark._

 _She's frantic. She's almost lost it. I don't know what she's getting me into, but I'm scared, Dad. I'm so damn scared and I know she is too – but she's so desperate; she's so damn at the end of her tether that it's tearing her apart and eating her alive. We leave for Creta in the morning, and I don't know if we'll ever come back. People are saying Isabelle and I are just like you and Alphonse – just different Elric children._

 _People are after us, after the General. After the Lieutenant; and they'll probably chase us for the rest of our lives. It's only a matter of time: that's why I'm writing this to you – in the off chance we don't make it, but you do._

 _Papa, life had just begun. I don't wanna die._

 _But she loves you. I love you. I love her. I don't want this any more than anyone else. But, what choice do we have anymore? We're all we've got at this point._

 _In the end, we're just humans. Humans drunk on the idea of hope and dangling on the idea that only hope can save us from a world like this._

 _Sometimes, I wish I hadn't been born at all._

 _One last time._

 _I wish you'd have a drink with me._

 _One last time._

 _We'll teach them how to say goodbye – you and I._

 _We talked about making it. I'm sorry that I never made it and it pains me just to hear you have to say it. We knew the game and we played it – but every game must come to its end, like the chilling of a hot cup of tea._

 _It's four o'clock in the middle of the night and I can't sleep. Life's all on repeat, so bad I can taste it while it eats me. How can I sleep if I don't have dreams? I just have nightmares._

 _I think I found hell. I think I found something. I think I found something in my TV screen. I think I found out that I have nothing – and nothing in this place for me._

 _Papa, don't tell them anything._

 _Don't tell them anything, anything, please._

 _If you say anything, everything changes – in time, you'll stay frozen in time. I'm not making much sense, I know. But trust me. Everything changes._

 _Ahhh…I'm rambling again. I'm sorry. Please, do not weep for me. It is too late for us, and it's okay. It's all okay._

 _I'll see you on the other side._

 _Love,_

 _Your Little Grease Monkey._

* * *

I know, the ending was terrible and rushed. Don't remind me. I'm sorry. I just had to throw something together before I leave for Disney World this Friday. I have another fanfiction to work on, too, and they've been waiting for a while. But anyway! Regardless of the shit, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter as we finally dive into the adventures of the Elric Children! Thank you so much for reading!

-Elena


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Fullmetal and Flame

WARNINGS FOR: Language

Sorry about the wait, I just came back from a long trip at Disney World with my family, but it was a lot of fun! Also, I just became Editor-in-Chief of my online platform that I write for called "The Odyssey!" So if any of you wanted to drabble a little in articles and a creative outlet for things that aren't fanfiction, let me know and I can hook you up with my Managing Editor! You could write anything you want, however long you want, you just have to do something every week, which really helps with creativity and writer's block. Also! I use the metric system in this chapter since that is what they use in the show. So the conversion of 1.1 kg is roughly 2.5 lbs and 37.8 cm is roughly 14.9 in. Thank you again so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen**

 **Fullmetal and Flame**

 _May 17_ _th_ _, 1921_

 _To: General Roy Mustang,_

 _As you know, just a couple months ago, my son Marcus turned one. Winry and I have been discussing about having another baby, hopefully a little girl, but she still hasn't healed completely in some places from her previous birth yet. We decided to wait about another year before we revisit the subject._

 _But, I'm not writing this letter to you just for the sake of keeping you up to date on our personal lives. Hell, I actually wanted to call you about the subject, but I decided it would be better that you could have something in writing. Plus, it would be a key piece of evidence to use against you in the courtroom if I had to._

 _Marcus's first birthday made me think a million things, as you might expect. Being a father is definitely one of the most challenging jobs a person could have – and if this kid grows up to be anything like me, I'll probably lose what little sanity I have left._

 _Ha ha…_

 _It's funny. It makes me wonder what my Dad was thinking with Alphonse and I. My mind is all over the place recently, and I'm not quite sure what to make of it. And with Marcus, I see a bright future in that little boy. If the rest of the boy's generation is going to be like him, then I'm more than willing to trust the fate of this country into these kids._

 _I'm getting off track. What I'm worried about is how our generation is going to affect theirs._

 _And that's what I was wanting to discuss with you._

 _I am going to tell my children about what happened. From start to finish – I'm going to tell them everything that happened to prevent them from repeating our mistakes. And yet, I know my kids. If they're going to be raised by Winry and I, they're going to be stubborn as hell, and once they set their mind to something, they'll stick with it._

 _They're just kids, General._

 _But if there's anything I know about them being raised by Winry, they're going to be incredibly smart. Marcus, these kids, they're going to be great. They've got a wonderful mother and a father that's trying his hardest._

 _You won't understand this until you have kids, General, but once you do, you'll just want to bubble wrap them and keep them home all day. If anything happens to them, you just want to curl up and cry because you failed them. It's a lot of pressure, not going to lie._

 _And I'm contacting you to help me._

 _Something is going to happen to Winry and I. We're finding more signs each day, and we've noticed a few people staring at us. We even found an anonymous letter in the mail. We can feel it. But, the last thing I want to do is go into hiding. That'll cause a panic, and that's the last thing I want to cause. We don't know if it'll be today, tomorrow, or twenty years from now. Whatever's going to happen, is going to happen, and whoever is going to do it is preparing now._

 _In a time like now where tensions are high, the one thing I'm petrified of is of my children becoming a Dog of the Military – whether it be Marcus or any other one I end up having. I know that if Winry and I were to talk to them about it, they'll probably turn a deaf ear to everything we ask of them because we were just as stubborn as kids._

 _If any of my children were to join the military, I want you to promise me that you'll do everything in your power to prevent them from joining in. But, knowing Marcus, he's incredibly smart for his age. It only makes me wonder how my future children are going to turn out – and if any of them were to apply for a position, and if they were really determined about it, they'll probably find ways to pass._

 _When they do, I want you to promise me that you'll protect them and keep them out of harm's way no matter what happens. I don't know how you'll do that; I'll leave that up to you. But please, I beg of you, do anything._

 _I don't know what's going to happen to Winry and I, but we're scared about leaving behind our children. I want to be able to know that I can trust you with the lives of my children if anything were to happen to their parents. I would ask Granny Pinako, but she's getting awfully old. I'm surprised she's in as good of a shape she's in, considering her age._

 _I want you to take Marcus, and anybody else that we end up having, and I want you to raise them as your own. Should they no longer see Winry and I, I want you to love them and care for them just as we would with your children._

 _Even if you end up lying to me and telling me that you will, even if you never had the intentions of raising another man's child should circumstance force it, it will at least let me sleep better at night to know that you at least said you'd care for my children._

 _Marcus means the entire world to me, and I don't think my heart has enough room to love another child, but I have a feeling I'll be proven wrong once we finally have our second. You wouldn't just be helping me or these kids: you'd be saving them, and in return, saving me. I know you and I don't always see eye to eye, but we know where we stand with one another._

 _And if nothing else, I'd take in and raise your children if anything were to happen to you. I just hope you'd do the same for me._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Edward Elric_

* * *

 _June 12_ _th_ _, 1921_

 _To: Edward Elric,_

 _I have read over your statements listed, and before I address the elephant in the room, there's a few points I would like to make in regards to some things you have mentioned to me within your letter:_

 _\- First of all, I have not heard back from neither you nor Winry in regards to the birthday gift I sent to Marcus. It's making me worry that I sent it to the wrong address._

 _\- Secondly, I know you are extremely stubborn, but I'm going to suggest this anyway: if you're so worried about leaving behind your children, the military could make an arrangement for you to go into hiding without causing a panic. We've done it before, it's possible, affordable, and comfortable._

 _\- Third, the Lieutenant and I deeply appreciate your gesture of taking in our children, and we thank you for keeping your hopes high, but we are unfortunately unable to have children of our own. However, we thank you for your kind words._

 _\- And finally, I thought you knew me better, Fullmetal. You know I am many things, but a liar is not one of them. If I truly do not want to take in your children, I would tell you instead of humouring you._

 _Alright, now to the nitty-gritty of the situation here._

 _I'm going to promise you that I will do everything in my power to keep your children safe and out of harm's way if I were to take them in. I will raise them to the best, law-abiding citizens I can possibly make them out to be._

 _That sounded a little too formal. It sounded like a textbook, didn't it?_

 _I love Marcus. I really do. He's like the son I never could have, and I always love it when I have the chance to visit you or whenever you and your family stop by so I can see him. I would have no trouble having him around all the time and taking care of him in case anything was to happen to you, God forbid. And if you were to have more children, it would just mean more rooms to fill and more children to raise and play with, and that's alright with me. You know I have a soft spot for children._

 _You know, in a way, you were like a son to me all those years ago. You were just a kid. Parentless, misguided, a goddamn pain in the neck, but a good kid. Seeing you all grown up with a kid of your own makes me feel pretty old, I'll be honest._

 _But, if your kids are all grown up if something were to happen to you, I'll do my best sure, but there's no guarantee that they'll listen to me, much less stay under my roof. Regardless, I'll do whatever I can._

 _I mean this in the nicest way possible: I care about your children more than I care about you. I hope you understand what I mean by that because I don't regret saying it but I know it sounds really disregarding._

 _Trust me._

 _I know I wasn't the nicest with you at times, but you were old enough and you knew better, and you were my subordinate. I had to look at you as my subordinate and not my child. Your kids, however, I won't have to look at them like military men. Marcus is just a child._

 _And I promise you that you could sleep easy at night knowing that all of your children would be safe with me._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Roy Mustang_

 _The Flame Alchemist_

 _Military General_

 _Central, Amestris_

* * *

 _October 23_ _rd_ _, 1925_

 _To: General Roy Mustang_

 _I'm writing this to inform you of the birth of Isabelle Nina Elric on October 12_ _th_ _, 1925. Isabelle was born at 28 weeks – which is two and a half months early. She's 1.1 kilograms and 37.8 cm. Yes, you can be worried. Winry and I are too._

 _They told us that the risk of losing her would be high, and even if she did somehow survive, that medical complications would be almost definite. However, they could just be mild. Winry actually was damaged so badly after the delivery that she's still in the bed and only moves to go to the bathroom. Even then, sometimes she can't make it because it hurts so much. Doctor Zimmermann said that she should be healed enough to walk around by next week, but the pain might last until next month._

 _Winry had a lot of complications with this one. Between the constant false labours and the way this birth ruptured her organs so bad when the baby was actually born, I'm surprised Isabelle even has the statistics that she does._

 _When Isabelle was born, the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck, and she wasn't crying. The Doctor said it was normal for a baby born this early to not be crying, but it's not normal for a baby to be born this early. They had to take her away to the hospital where they were going to hook her up to a new machine they had created designed to help premature babies breathe and eat until they are able to do so on their own._

 _I visit the hospital every day since Winry can't. I check on Isabelle, and Doctor Zimmermann said that she's making progress. Slow, gradual progress, but it's good progress nonetheless. She's moving a little now, but her movements are really jerky and almost painful to watch. If she keeps up the pace, she should be good to go by the next hundred days or so._

 _However, based on what she's looking like, the Doctor said that she's most likely going to be an asthmatic. Possibly blood issues. Maybe even behavioural or learning disabilities._

 _I'm scared._

 _Not about the issues – well, I am, but not as much as I'm scared about how these issues are going to affect my child. I don't want my daughter to live her life every day in pain and absolutely miserable because she decided to leave the womb too early. I'm more scared about how the rest of the world is going to treat her._

 _Because I know that while we can protect her, I also know that kids at school are cruel. If she has a behavioural disability, they'll definitely make fun of her. She'll come home in tears._

 _So yes, I am scared about potential medical complications, but I'm more scared of her living every day of her life wishing she was dead. I don't want to force her to stay alive like how I did with Alphonse – it's too much._

 _He told me that it was miserable being stuck in that suit of armour for years, and I don't want these complications to be Isabelle's suit of armour she's forced to live in for her whole life._

 _Does that make me selfish? Wanting my child to live in the best possible conditions and live a happy and healthy life? I mean I wouldn't think so, but the little voice in the back of my head keeps telling me to quit thinking about myself._

 _But Isabelle…_

 _She's so beautiful, Roy. I sent a picture with this letter. She's a little trooper, too. She's taking these tubes and prematurity complications like a champ. She really is a Rockbell. She really is an Elric._

 _Marcus hasn't seen her yet. I'm afraid he'd be too rough with her, and there wasn't a lot of time between the delivery and taking her to the incubator in the hospital. Hell, there was barely any time for Winry and I to see her._

 _We told him that she was born and all, but neither of these children are ready to meet yet._

 _But I know you and the Lieutenant would be careful if you see her. And you're more than welcome to come visit, since we won't be able to leave for about the next year or so. However, I told you most of these complications and problems to inform you how you should treat her._

 _Careful._

 _If she turns out fine, then great, but be prepared for a child with needs of special care and extra responsibilities. The other day someone kept watching me at the market. He had a strange insignia on an armband, but I didn't think about it until after I got home. I think they're studying us. Now I'm even more afraid that they'll be after my children._

 _Marcus can't do alchemy; we've already tried to teach him. He just doesn't grasp it. But, he does love watching Winry work on automail, so I think he's going to end up as another gearhead. I'll try to teach Isabelle if she's able and old enough, and if she understands, then she'll be targeted, for sure._

 _I'll be honest, she scares me the most. I'm scared of what's happening with her right now, and what will happen with her later. I don't know what to do, Mustang. I know I won't have to worry about Marcus because they won't see a mechanic as a threat._

 _But Isabelle, my little babygirl…_

 _I'm rambling again, am I? I'm sorry. There's so much on my chest and I can't get it all off in just a letter._

 _Come visit me, please. I can tell you the rest then._

 _You could even get to see Isabelle._

 _For all we know, she may overcome all this like the little asskicker that she is and end up being better than the both of us put together. Irony, am I right?_

 _Just come down. It doesn't have to be this week, but make it soon._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Edward Elric_

* * *

 _December 4_ _th_ _, 1927_

 _To: Edward Elric_

 _Fullmetal, I'm writing this to inform you of some good news. No, unfortunately, the Lieutenant and I are not expecting a child, so don't get your hopes high. However, we are grateful that you have such well-wishes for us._

 _Instead, we have managed to locate the man that has been terrorising you and Winry. You described him as a tall, middle-aged man with dark brown hair and blue-grey eyes, and a scratch-like scar extending from the end of his right eye to his temple. You also mentioned that no matter what he was wearing, he was wearing an armband with a strange insignia on it of a tribal animal face._

 _His real name is Hanniel Blitzkri, but he refuses to go by that name. Apparently, he goes by Taq, to make himself sound more native to the country he's from, Ziio. His father was a native there while his mother was from Amestris – from Resembool, as a matter of fact. He confessed to stalking you and your family after we questioned with him, and he was quite open about his motives._

 _He claims that he has no intentions to hurt you or your family, but he was intrigued by you. Apparently he admires the great Fullmetal Alchemist so much that he's wanting to learn your ways of life and be a lot like you. In fact, just like you._

 _Some mental therapy would help him, and if we find him in good health, we will release him from the asylum. But, we will make sure that he is exiled out of this country and have border patrol on guard for him in case he tries to return and continue his ways._

 _But, there should be no issues from here on out._

 _I hope the family is doing well. Send them my best wishes for me, thank you. Now all of you can rest assured knowing that Taq will no longer remain a presence in your lives._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Roy Mustang_

 _The Flame Alchemist_

 _Military General_

 _Central, Amestris_

* * *

 _January 12_ _th_ _, 1928_

 _To: General Roy Mustang_

 _Mustang, my family and I thank you deeply for finding our stalker and converting him into the proper mental health, but there's something I need to tell you about him. About all of this._

 _Something doesn't add up. Something isn't quite right._

 _I know at this point it might just be paranoia, but my gut feelings have never failed me before, and I don't expect them to do so now._

 _Something tells me that this man wouldn't stop at exile. I've got a small fear in the back of my mind that this would just be a minor setback of things to come in the future. I feel that this is just the beginning._

 _I saw that man's eyes, Roy._

 _They weren't human._

 _It was as if I had stared face-to-face with the devil, if he existed. Not even Shou Tucker had these eyes. Not even the Homunculi. I have never seen eyes like these before, and to be frank I've got that gut-wrenching instinct in me that I'll see them again – once more, before I die._

 _Now I don't know for sure if this man is going to kill me or if all those times at the Gate are really starting to catch up to me, but I've been having trouble sleeping at night. Winry would wake up sometimes to find me just looking out the window, neither of us able to find a cause for my troubles._

 _She thinks I have a condition called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I looked into it some, and if it really was the case, then you probably have it too. The same goes for the Lieutenant and Alphonse and even May. (Speaking of, Alphonse finally had the guts to ask her to be his girlfriend a little back. Isn't it adorable? He's grown up)._

 _If that's the case, then we need help, but I don't want it. Does that make any sense? I know here recently it seems that my mind is in a million different places at once. Well, not seems. It is in a million different places at once._

 _I wake up, I take care of my family, and I go to bed. It should be simple, but once you factor in the whole fiasco with Taq and everything in regarding to my past, it isn't easy. If anyone understands, it would be you, General._

 _I'm asking you to help me._

 _Nobody else. Just you. I trust you enough, and you've been through your own hell, so I am willing to take any help that you're willing to give me in regards to this subject._

 _Geez. This is a major blow to my pride. But it's better than group therapy or whatever the hell Winry was wanting us all to do together. I'd rather not, thanks._

 _We've seen hell. Our own versions, big and small and left and right._

 _But even if I had help, I can't stop thinking. I'm so scared._

 _What if, Roy, what if Taq will be the next hell? Maybe not for me. Maybe not for you. But for my children? For your children? The thoughts keep me pacing every free time I get. Thinking about it, I know it feels more like a possibility, and I try not to think about it._

 _I'm restless. I'm desperate. I'm asking you for help, for fuck's sake. I think I've gotten about as low as I could get._

 _General, please do something before I go crazy._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Edward Elric_

* * *

 _February 21_ _st_ _, 1928_

 _To: Edward Elric_

 _You and I have both lived long and seen enough to know how to read people - and well, I'll have to agree with you here. Something doesn't feel right with this guy. He didn't come across as honest when we interviewed him, and we can't lock him up here because our Constitution prevents us holding aliens in a cell for longer than a week, because they have to be punished in their home countries._

 _Taq hasn't made an attempt to naturalize himself into Amestris. Hell, we don't even have records of him crossing into the country. Since that's the case, this rule in the Constitution applies to him (unlike if he had made an attempt to nationalize himself and just didn't pass or if he was naturalized)._

 _Our best bet is to exile him and keep the guards on high alert around the border to prevent him from ever trying to get back into this country. But if your hypothesis is correct (which I also believe it is) then, to put things bluntly, we are in some serious shit._

 _I wouldn't allow your children to see hell. Let's say your gut instinct is correct and that this is really the start of things to come. I will do everything in my power to prevent any more trauma that could happen to your children. I also appreciate your high hopes, but I will tell you once again: The Lieutenant and I are not having children. That being said, focus on your own, for God's sake._

 _I will not let them see hell. I will not let this upcoming storm haunt them just like how our pasts haunt you and I._

 _I've heard about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's a relatively new concept that psychologists have discovered, so I'm surprised your wife managed to know it so quickly. Unlike a lot of people here in Central, I believe that this is a very real disorder and that it needs immediate attention to those that need it. It could explain so many things and why so much has happened to so many people and why they do the things that they have done and what we could do to change it._

 _That being said, not everyone is as progressive as you and I. We'll see how the public views PTSD in a few years and hope that people like us could finally get the help we need._

 _Perhaps that could lower our stress and level out our troubles._

 _For all we know, you could be right in that this is paranoia, but at the same time, I know when something is off. And this just doesn't feel right._

 _Please let me know if there is anything else going on that might be suspicious._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Roy Mustang_

 _The Flame Alchemist_

 _Military General_

 _Central, Amestris_

* * *

 _June 4_ _th_ _, 1928_

 _To: Edward Elric_

 _I haven't heard back from you in regards to my last letter. I'm getting worried._

 _Please write back as soon as you get the chance._

 _In other news, Taq has been officially exiled and security around the boarder has been tightened until further notice. Make sure Alphonse is aware of this because I know he's a traveller much like yourself._

 _Everything should be fine, but I need a response for some reassurance._

 _Thank you._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Roy Mustang_

 _The Flame Alchemist_

 _Military General_

 _Central, Amestris_

* * *

 _March 24_ _th_ _, 1929_

 _To: Edward Elric_

 _To THE FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST,_

 _I am writing to acknowledge that you have submitted your withdrawal as a State Alchemist of the military, and that you no longer wish to continue to keep your rank, title, position, nor any of your responsibilities that may come with being a soldier as of July 16_ _th_ _, 1928._

 _You may keep your uniform, but you must return your state-issued pocket-watch no later than MAY 12_ _th_ _, 1929. From here on out you no longer have the benefits and discounts that come with being a State Alchemist, but you will no longer be on the draft if needed for active duty._

 _On behalf of the Central military headquarters in Amestris, I wish you well for the future._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Roy Mustang_

 _The Flame Alchemist_

 _Military General_

 _Central, Amestris_

* * *

I'm sorry this wasn't too eventful, I didn't have much planned and there was a different approach I wanted to try. Things have been getting awful busy.

But anyway! Thank you guys so much for reading and there will be more in the future!

-Elena


	15. Chapter Fourteen: His Right Hand

WARNINGS FOR: Language, violence

Sorry for taking way too long, due to the lack of activity in Dead Aim Alchemist I lost a little faith in this project, but I'm going to keep writing anyway. I decided to tweak up the plot slightly, cutting out the fluff and stuff, which took a minute. So hopefully, this will be more interesting of a read to you guys.

Also, I have wonderful news! I earned an all-expenses paid trip to Washington D.C. for my JAG class, and I just came back. While I was there, I competed in public speaking against students all across the nation, and I won 2nd place! 2nd place in the nation! I couldn't breathe. I'm still riding the high from that victory, and I decided to take some time out of my NaNoWriMo project I'm doing with my best friend to do this chapter. Thank you again so much for reading this! I hope you enjoy it!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen**

 **Destruction on His Right Hand**

"Papers."

Isabelle looked up to find a military solider standing by her seat, his arm extended and palm flat. She didn't have papers, but her closest excuse seemed to have a better effect. She pulled out her pocket watch, which caused the soldier's breath to hitch in his throat.

"Very well, Miss Elric. Have a safe journey," he said, before gesturing to her brother, reading the morning's newspaper.

"He's with me," Isabelle informed him absent-mindedly, scribbling down her thoughts into her diary. She was running out of pages in this one, and it was such a shame. The General and Lieutenant's diary they bought her for her fourteenth only had a couple hundred pages, but if Isabelle wrote multiple pages every day straight since Mustang took her in, it wouldn't last long. She made note to get herself a new journal before she finished her search in Creta.

The soldier nodded, not questioning the girl, and just walking away from the seat, moving to the ones next to her and asking for their papers.

Marcus set down the newspaper and turned the sheet to her to where she can read it, pointing to a headline that read "DEAD AIM ALCHEMIST TO CONQUER CRETA" in bold black letters.

"The fuck is this shit?" Isabelle laughed, taking the papers as she started to read the article. The headline was misleading, for sure, since it talked about how she planned to continue the Elric Case by interviewing citizens of Table City. It never mentioned her plans for conquering it at all, since she had none to begin with. "Is the press really allowed to get away with this kind of BS?"

"That, Izzy, is an example of Yellow Journalism," Marcus informed her, "Be prepared for a lot more of this if you continue to stay in the public light."

"Can't we just sue?" she asked.

Her brother shook his head, sighing, "Do you think you're the first person to do that? They print all kinds of slander just for the sake of selling more papers. Your best bet is to not even acknowledge it in the first place."

She skimmed back through the article again, and after a moment of silence in the reading, she looked back at him, "Why are you telling me this?"

"To teach you. Mama and Papa aren't here to do much of that anymore, so it looks like I have to be the one to do it," he stated very matter-of-factly. "You can't be forty years old with the same amount of knowledge as you did when you were fourteen, so I'm doing the best I can."

She nodded, glancing back at the paper before turning it around and sliding it back to her brother so he could continue reading the other articles that were present. He took the sides of the paper, smacking it against the air to straighten it, and he did just that.

The sister turned back to her diary and wrote down what just happened, word for word, and then continued from where she was before.

It wasn't about five minutes later when the whistle pierced the sky.

 _We couldn't be any more alone._

Those were the last words Isabelle scribbled frantically into her diary before she got off the train. The smoke like a beacon, the whistle ringing in her ears. The smell of Table City was overpowering the moment she stepped off, and the air was heavy.

She knew already that the General was right about there still being conflict.

 _It's been at least 20 years…!_

It didn't matter.

She remembered reading about the Table City Conflict in her history class. It was annexed by Creta, then by Amestris, but then they were independent. Milos was only Milos for a short time, before Amestris took back over in 1928, once again renaming it to Table City. There has been conflict ever since.

Isabelle wasn't quite three years old yet, so she didn't remember it at all. Marcus, having just turned eight, remembered a little about it from reading the newspapers, but he mainly remembered the discussions his classmates would have over something that was rather trivial to him.

She remembered asking her brother what he remembered about it when she learned about it during Year Seven. "It was tension; I'll tell you that. We thought we was goin' to war," he had said. "We were dumb kids that had exaggerated imaginations. I didn't even know what the hell was going on, but I thought they were going to have to send Papa out into the battlefield."

Obviously, eight-year-old Marcus was mistaken.

And yet so it seemed the tension was not relieved, and the Elrics were clearly not welcome. At least, Isabelle wasn't. Most citizens they passed by didn't know who Marcus was, but they gave him some awful looks as they walked by together. They both took notice, and it took someone mumbling about the "baby killer" for them to stop walking altogether.

"Marcus," she said simply, "I want you to split."

"You demand me to come with you and when I come with you, you demand me to leave," he groans as he points out his sister's strange logic.

"We can cover more ground that way, and it will prevent you from having a bad reputation here–"

"–Since when did I care about my reputation in a foreign country?" Marcus asked. His sister glossed his question and continued to talk.

"You're looking for a woman named Julia Crichton, remember that. If you find her, bring her to me so I can ask her questions, that I ordered her to do so," Isabelle instructed.

"Yeah, good idea and all, but if I do find her, and let's say you're on the other end of the city, how the hell would I bring her to you?"

This stumped the girl, but she quickly came with a solution as she walked to a small shop in the centre of the marketplace they were in. The man behind the counter, thankfully, was Amestrian, as there was a large mix between Amestrians and Cretans in Table City. He didn't react so harshly when he saw the girl, like others there would.

"By any chance sir," Isabelle asked the man, "are you an alchemist?"

He nodded, but his face grew with concern, "Why do you need to know."

"My brother and I here are lookin' for someone," she said simply, turning to face her brother, "and if he finds the person we're lookin' for, he will meet me here, at this shop. But, in order for me to know, he'll have you make a tall pillar with your alchemy so it will get my attention, no matter where I am in the city."

Before the shop owner had a chance to speak, Isabelle pulled out her pocket watch, "I'll pay you generously for it."

Whatever questions the shop owner had were now gone, nodding at the girl's idea. "I'll be happy to oblige," he said, prompting a thank you from the two siblings.

"Problem solved," Isabelle said simply, checking her map and then tossing it to her brother. "Take the east side and move north and meet back here in the centre, I'll head left, south, and then back here."

She took steps back, not even listening to her brother's complaining about how the whole situation was insane from start to finish.

"Happy hunting!"

* * *

"Lieutenant, something doesn't feel right."

"I know, sir, I feel it too."

There was an uneasiness in the air. The General looked to his wife, waiting for something, anything to happen.

But nobody came.

The General glanced at the clock every so often, checking his calendar to double-check and see if he was forgetting anything important.

He wasn't.

It seemed that it was only he and the Lieutenant that could feel the uneasiness. Everyone else seemed peacefully bliss, ignorant to whatever emotion their superiors were feeling. Nobody else but them could feel it, and it only made them worry more.

"Say, General, do you think it could be the kids?" asked Second Lieutenant Havoc. "Maybe you're both just really worried about them?"

The General never really thought about things like that. He loved Isabelle. He loved Marcus. He loved those kids more than he cared to admit. And now being an expecting father, his chest practically hurt all the time from all the love he carried, and the baby was only two months in development. He couldn't imagine how much more love he'd feel once the baby was born. But, at the same time, he wasn't scared for the Elric Children.

Well, obviously he was, but not in that sense. He was always scared for the people he cared about, but he felt a lot more at ease with the Elrics, especially the two kids. Isabelle has proven herself to be more than comfortable with taking another man's life to defend herself, something most real men in the military couldn't bring themselves to do. He knew they were strong and that they could take care of themselves – and that in the end, no matter what happened with them, everything would be alright.

"Yeah," the General sighed as he thought about it. "It probably is."

Little did they know that it wasn't. It wasn't Isabelle or Marcus by any means. Little did they know that a storm was coming. The sun was going to fall once again. There will be yet another collapse. Nobody knew. Nobody knew that it wasn't the Elrics. Just like before, nobody was ready.

They had three hours.

* * *

Julia Crichton was a lot harder to search for than Isabelle anticipated.

It seemed that word of her spread around not just around Amestris, but all across the world. The citizens that treated other Amestrians with smiles and respect would spit on her. Shop owners would close down until she passed by, then open back up whenever she was out of proximity. They would say things in their language, and she knew they were talking about her, and by the disgust in their tone, it wasn't pretty talk either.

She knew why, too.

She hasn't been able to get Danielle out of her head since it happened. She couldn't blame everyone else for hating her. She hated herself, too.

Marcus, thankfully, had a lot more luck at getting clues than his sister was. Most didn't know about his involvement with the Dead Aim Alchemist, and they welcomed him quickly. As far as where exactly Julia Crichton was, he was only getting vague ideas and empty leads to nowhere.

"What's today, Sunday? She's probably over in the central part of the country. She's always there on Sundays."

"She's definitely in the southern part of the country. If you head back, you'll find her there."

"Well, she lives here in the east, so you're close."

"I saw her not too long ago, but I don't know where she was heading. I'll make sure to tell her you stopped by!"

"I think she lives on the north side, under federal protection."

"I don't even think she's still alive, bud."

They had been searching for hours. It was pointless. It wasn't too long before he found himself where he started, and he just sighed, sitting at the shop where he was originally meant to meet his sister.

"Any luck, bucko?" The shop owner asked him as he was polishing one of the vases he was selling.

"Nothing," Marcus sighed as he laid his head on the counter in defeat, "it's all a giant scatterplot."

He didn't hear what the shop owner said after him, because he stopped listening. He rested his eyes, and it only lasted for a few seconds before he heard a woman screaming for his father. The mention of him stunned him, and he bolted upright and turned to the noise, only to find a woman with short red hair and an automail leg.

"Edward–" her sentence paused when she saw the boy's face, recollecting herself. "I'm very sorry. I thought you were someone I knew, you looked so much like him in the back it was unmistakable."

"No, sorry, we're still on the hunt for him," Marcus said.

"You're looking for him too?" The woman asked.

"Of course," he replied simply. "My sister is the head of the Elric Case to begin with. Edward is our father."

"Father? Damn, kid, how old are you?"

"Twenty."

The woman just chuckled to herself, running her hand through her hair and her eyes gazing down to her automail leg with a soft smile. "It's really been that long, huh?"

"Since you knew my dad, I was wondering if you had leads on someone else I'm looking for. Her name is Julia–"

"Crichton. Yes, that's me," Julia said simply. Marcus felt a mixture of relief and anger. Relief of finding her after searching for three damn hours, but at the same time angry for looking all around only to have her just walk up to him and everything he needed fell on his lap. "What did you need?"

Marcus couldn't respond, his voice cracking in his throat when he remembered what he had to do. He turned to the shop owner, tapping on the counter to get his attention.

"Make the beacon."

He turned back to face Julia, but his eyes looked past her, towards the west, looking for someone. As the man walked around the counter and began to draw the circle to make what he needed, the brother let out a soft breath and his voice remained quiet.

"You might just be right, Izzy. You and your crazy ideas, but you might be right."

* * *

Two minutes.

By this point, Mustang had dismissed his team for a lunch break, while he and the Lieutenant stayed behind. They couldn't eat – something took their appetite away. However, the Lieutenant forced some food down, not because she was hungry, but for the baby. She could tell she was already gaining weight from the pregnancy, which excited her – that means the baby was growing healthily.

The General stared at his paperwork, resting his chin on folded hands, his leg bouncing anxiously, knowing what he had to write, but he couldn't write.

Something wasn't right.

"Lieutenant," he said finally, turning to face his wife as she was tucking her now empty lunchbox away. "I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know what's to become. But whatever happens, I love you."

They didn't say that often. It was rarely used in their moments of intimacy, because they didn't need to say it. They just knew it. And yet, it haunted him to have to say it, hauntingly right. She felt it too, because she simply stood up and planted a simple kiss on his lips before replying, "I love you too."

That's when he knew something was wrong.

Fifteen seconds.

It relieved them both just a little bit for having said it, but not to the point to where the emotion would go away. Letting out a shaky breath, the Lieutenant walked to the door to call time for the crew. She rested her hand on the doorknob, and she turned back towards her husband.

"Roy–"

And then the sun fell.

It plummeted and collapsed just as how it did before. There was no polish, no sick grace behind it, just the same destructive chaos that followed a path of only descent.

The door was not kicked open, however, it was blasted open. The Lieutenant flew backwards, smacking against the desk and tumbling over, the General having to catch her as she fell, causing him to trip down with her. His instinct was to guard her, but he instead pushed her underneath his desk, grabbing the inside sheet of wood and sliding it shut. It locked from the inside and outside, which he locked, and he ordered her to do the same for the inside to keep the Lieutenant enclosed for as long as he could. He knew the Lieutenant was strong. He knew she could manage herself, but the baby… If he could save her, the baby would be safe. And that's all he needed as reassurance to die in peace.

The alarms sounded, and he knew he just had to stall as long as he could until he got backup. Considering everyone was at lunch, it would take them a second to all leave the cafeteria and rush up to his office in time.

"General–!"

"We're going to make it," he said through the doors quickly and quietly, shushing her as he stood back up as quick as he could, his fingers ready to snap. His breathing was heavy.

He was only greeted by weapons aimed at him in most directions.

Two soldiers that blocked the door stepped aside, and in walked a man holding a handkerchief, patting the corners of his mouth as if he had just finished eating. His brown hair was messed slightly but as slick as he could manage, his grey eyes were cold and unflinching. It was if he was staring into the eyes of the devil.

"Well," the devil-eyed man said simply as he chuckled at Roy's current state. The General not only had taken some damage from the remains of his door cutting against his skin, but he hadn't bathed in a couple days. His hair was greasy and he didn't have the time to shave his five o'clock shadow that morning, making it look worse than what it was. "You look like shit."

"We've met before," the General spoke after a pause. He remembered those eyes. So did Edward. They were eyes that were unmistakably belonging – it was unforgettable.

"Yes, we have, very good," the man smirked as he tucked his handkerchief into the inner pocket of his coat. "Now, let's make this quick and simple. Now that the Girl isn't here, it should be much easier to take you."

"You have the Elrics."

"I do."

"Where are they?" The General could hear people making their way to his office, and he was trying to hold the group there as long as they can. However, that didn't seem to work all that well.

The devil-eyed man tsked, having also heard the footsteps, and he sighed. "You'll find out soon enough." He turned towards his soldiers, and twirled his finger in a circular motion. One of the soldiers started to spark a green colour, and lunged towards the General, now with cat eyes and a tail slithering from his coat. The General snapped his fingers, causing some soldiers to start blindly firing wherever, and that included the desk Riza was hiding under. Pain shot through her hip, but she didn't think of it.

The chimera lunged through the fire, took the General by the scuff of his shirt, and leaped out the window with him. The other soldiers were chimeras as well as animals of all kinds. The office became an array of feathers, furs, scales, the works. The only one that didn't shift was their leader, but he was taken by one of the soldiers that sprouted wings and started to soar.

"General!" the Lieutenant screamed, kicking the desk now, unlocking her side but unable to get out due to the outside also being locked. "General!"

By this point, State Alchemists stormed the room and heard the Lieutenant screaming. Their immediate reaction was to rush to the desk and pull her out of there, while others began to fire from the window. There were so many and it was smothering.

"Move," she ordered, pushing others to the side as she moved to the centre of the opening. She demanded a rifle, and so she received it. Lifting the scope to her eye, she aimed for the monster that took the General. Its movements were swift, fluid. It was almost impossible to believe that the thing is half animal and half human, and not even Shou Tucker himself could make a chimera hybrid so perfectly. Everyone was firing. Though the chaos, there was no source for bullets anymore – it was everywhere. However, the Lieutenant remained calm. She took a deep breath, one target in her sights.

The bullet pierced the chimera's soldier, and it cried out in pain, dropping the General and turning to face the rifle. The General scrambled to his feet, then fumbled in his pocket for a glove. He was desperate for any glove, since the ones he had were either torn in the scuffle or somehow slid off his hands. Another hybrid swooped down to take him, but the Lieutenant fired at it to shoo it away.

 _Snap!_

Suddenly, there was the flame. The General stepped backwards, making careful sure to keep adding fuel to the fire he created.

"General!" The Lieutenant shouted to get his attention, standing up with her rifle, and that's when it happened. The pain from before shot through her body again, only this time, with intensity. She cried out, dropping her rifle and immediately clutching her side, doubling over. Her cries caused the General to look up and see his wife take a hand away from her side, the beautiful paleness now suddenly a deep red.

Hawkeye's vision started blurring. Words rushed together, becoming a mumble of vowels and consonants. _The baby...!_

"Lieutenant!"

"Retreat!"

"Lieutenant!"

"Everybody retreat!"

" _Riza!"_

* * *

"I came as soon as I saw it!"

"Perfect timing, we were getting ready to go on the hunt for you because you took forever."

"You shut the hell up Table City is pretty large," Isabelle leapt towards her brother in excitement, frantically looking around for a woman who looked like she had been kept waiting. "Where's Julia?"

Julia raised her hand, clearly aware that the little alchemist had skimmed past her multiple times. "Right here," she said.

"Perfect," Isabelle walked towards the woman. "I have so many questions to ask you." She looked around, to find many people are around her. "Where can we talk in private?"

* * *

There was a coolness to the air. Despite the tips of the flames down below that would reach up as high as where she lied, she couldn't feel the heat. She could smell the smoke, she could barely see the flickers of orange, and she could hear everything.

"Hawkeye's been shot!"

"Someone call the ambulance!"

"Already on it."

"Someone needs to get the General!"

"An ambulance is on the way!"

"Lieutenant Havoc is already downstairs to retrieve him."

"They've retreated, those cowards."

"She's losing a lot of blood!"

"Apply pressure until someone gets here."

The hands that pushed down on her side were unfamiliar to her. The pressure hurt, it was clear that the person was shaking as well. It may be a rookie; someone they were still training for the field.

Talk about a training exercise.

"Get out of my way!"

"General, your hand."

"It's fine!"

"General! Be careful with her!"

Warmth. She felt warmth. She wasn't exactly conscious, but she wasn't unconscious either. She was in a strange, dream-like state. She had been there once before. She didn't like to remember it.

"General…"

"Shh, stay quiet. The ambulance is almost here. Everything's going to be okay, just hang in there. Show me, where did they hit you?"

"Right here in the side sir."

"What do yo– shit."

"General…?"

"L-Lieutenant, it's alright. Please stay still."

"I think they hit the baby."

* * *

"If I had known Edward had kids, I would have sent presents. For God's sake, you two look just like your parents."

Julia had lead them to a small room in a crooked corner of the east side of the city. The room was dimly lit – only a few candles were used – and the heat was stuffy. For April, it was surprisingly warm. Then again, this place had no windows.

That statement alone made Isabelle uneasy. If this woman didn't even know of her own birth, then clearly she had been out of touch with her father for quite some time. Or at least, so she thought.

"The reason why my sister and I were even looking for you is because we hoped that you may have had contact with him here recently," Marcus said, his tone hopeless.

"Well, just because he never mentioned you kids doesn't mean that he and I never spoke," Julia laughed slightly. It was an uncomfortable laugh. She didn't know whether or not if it was to break the serious tone that these kids had or to calm herself down, but either way, it wasn't out of humour. However, this did let off some of the edge the children wore on their shoulders.

Instead, there was a spark.

"Wait, you _did_ speak with him?" Isabelle asked, leaning forward. Marcus gently pulled her backwards to keep from intimidating, but it was clear he was just as excited.

"Briefly. In fact, almost too briefly," Julia said. "It was the first time we had spoken since our first encounter. It was super trivial, too. I've been wanting to ask him what the hell he was talking about ever since."

"What did he say?" Marcus asked, since his sister was too busy scribbling everything down into a notepad.

"He just came up to me, like, in person, he came up to me. It was shocking, because it's so far away from Central, you know? He asked me how I was doing, and I said good, but then he asked about you." Julia described, clearly still puzzled by it. Isabelle tried to think back to when he last left for business, and it had been years. "Well, this is before I knew who you are. He said, 'how's Isabelle doing?' I asked, 'who's Isabelle?' and he ignored me. He told me, 'when you see her, tell her I said that I'm in the ballpoint pen, could you do that for me?' I asked him what that meant, but he left. To this day I'm still confused by it. Now that I've met the Isabelle he was talking about and told her what he said, do you think I can finally know what the hell is going on?"

"What the fuck is a ballpoint pen?" Isabelle mumbled. Marcus continued over top of her. He knew what it was, being a gearhead he would always read up on the latest inventions. He thought the ballpoint pen was genius, but it only came out about two years ago, so he didn't expect it to hit mainstream just yet.

"When did this happen?" He asked.

"A couple months ago in November."

They paled. She couldn't have been right. If she was, then this just meant this changed the game tremendously, even if it didn't make much sense at the moment. The Elric Brothers were taken on Isabelle's birthday.

Isabelle's birthday was in October.

* * *

I finished it! Yay!

This chapter was super hard to push through. Writing fight scenes are hard as fuck you guys. Clearly, it's not my strongest suit. But either way, I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you so much for reading!

-Elena


	16. Chapter Fifteen: The Ziio Genocide

WARNINGS FOR: Language, violence, death

SONGS I USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: (I decided I might start doing this so you guys could get into the mood with me, if you're one of those people) "Wires" and "Female Robbery" by the Neighbourhood, "Dark Ambient Music Mix," "Dark Piano Music Mix," and "Ambient Winter Music" by Cryo Chamber on YouTube. Also some ASMR to calm me down because this was intense for me.

Well, to put things bluntly, this is the chapter that's going to show you how the second half of the fanfiction is going to be. I have my fanfiction split into two parts, basically, the first half, and the second. I will notify you when we transition to the next part, because I can't spoil it here obviously :P But basically, the second half is going to be much, much darker and a lot more serious and emotionally harrowing. I warned you in the beginning: this is going to be a very intense fic. Obviously I'll have lighter moments, but it's still going to be pretty distressing. This chapter is going to give you a feel for how it's going to be in the second half. To put things into perspective, remember: Amestris is based in Germany, and this fic is in the 1940s. Make the connection.

So, please keep that in mind. (Also keep in mind I also noticed some of the characters are getting OOC, so this chapter and a few more will also be trying to get some of them back on track here).

Anyway! Thank you guys so much for reading this and I hope you enjoy it!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen**

 **The Ziio Genocide**

Grey.

Everything was grey.

Dakota thought of his mother – what could possibly be happening to her? His father, he knew he was safe. Mr. Ryder was Taq's right hand man, but then again, that didn't make him untouchable. His father was just as vulnerable as he was in the camps.

When the family first arrived, they were separated. Dakota was only thirteen, but a man next to them told him to lie and say he was fifteen. He didn't understand why, but he lied just as he was told. The soldiers guarding the camps then split them into lines – women in one and men in another, and everyone fourteen and younger were sent to a building not too far from the camps. He didn't think much of it then, but later on that night, he saw black smoke coming from the building.

Soldiers split them up and took his mother away, pairing him with his father and forcing them through a line. They screamed, trying to cling to each other before they were hit and pulled apart. They sent her to a different line, to a different camp.

He knew right then he was never going to see his mother again.

During the first week at the camps, the boy still had hope. It started to change during a march, when an old man fell behind. The soldiers made their way towards the weakling, firearms raised and ready to attack. Dakota jumped in front, still a firm believer of what his elders taught him: peace keeps people alive.

It didn't.

"Please, don't hurt him. He's only an innocent old man. He's a father. He's a husband. He's a brother. You're humans, just like us, try to love. Love keeps us alive," he had said.

They shot him.

Once he actually turned fourteen, he learned that it wasn't just villagers of Ziio that would be sent to the camps. He learned of many other races, people from countries he had never heard of. Ishbal, Xing, Creta – all of which he had never learned about in his time alive. However, one nation stuck out to him from all the others. This one sounded so evil, so corrupted, and once he found out the soldiers were from this place he hated it even more.

 _Amestris._

It sounded so spiteful – as if someone placed something disgusting on their tongue and spewed the taste from their lips. He heard it from a village liaison – who came back from that place only to be thrown into the camps.

He said people of Amestris wasn't as bad as the soldiers were, but Dakota had a hard time believing it.

By the time he turned fifteen, he not only knew who Death was and was witness to him: he was best friends with him. Death was an awful tease – dangling the afterlife in front of his face every time he opened his eyes. Dakota reached out to take it, but Death would only yank the afterlife away from him.

It's not time yet.

When he was sixteen, they took his father away after he beat a soldier to death with some spare rocks put into his sock after they took Dakota's food for themselves, even though they had plenty. Apparently, this caught Taq's attention, and he forbade his soldiers from shooting the man. He wanted Mr. Ryder for himself – and that's exactly what he got.

The punishment didn't just stop with his father; once they took him, the soldiers had special orders for Dakota. They have him a jacket, a luxury in the camps, with a bright orange patch that said something in a language he didn't understand. He didn't know what these soldiers were speaking half of the time, and when they would speak in his native tongue, he wished they went back to the other language.

When he was seventeen, he saw himself in a puddle. He almost wanted to scream at his own reflection. He hadn't seen himself since he was thirteen, and he didn't know who he was. One would think his skeleton crawled from his body and put on a new skin. A skin that had no life behind its eyes, no pigment behind its blood.

No will to live.

He disowned his father once he was eighteen, after finding out what he was doing for Taq and the terror he was causing other villagers. He thought of him as a traitor to his country and his people – remembering Unktena's father who was the same way.

Unktena was a friend Dakota had known since they were children. They liked to climb the trees as high as they can and try not to break their arms if they fell. His father was the one that brought Taq into this country – the very person that would soon destroy it.

He didn't know what happened to the Asgaya family. He thought of Unktena often here recently – he didn't see him after he was taken to the camps, and he hoped that everything was alright with him. However, knowing Mr. Asgaya and what he did, he was certain his son was dead by this point.

Now, he is nineteen.

It's a miracle that he's somehow still alive.

God knows what else this horrible place was going to do to him – and how much longer he was going to have to endure it. Maybe this is where he's supposed to die, just like everyone else here was.

He wanted to die, but at the same time, he wanted to live.

However, living and being alive were two different things. Right now, he was alive, but he wasn't living. He hadn't lived in years.

Dakota watched the Amestrian soldiers as he worked, wondering how they were able to live knowing that they were monsters. Maybe they didn't even know they were monsters. Maybe his people were the real monsters.

That didn't sound right. They're all so nice and they're good people – there's no way in hell the peaceful people of Ziio could ever be monsters. No, the real monsters were the people that were also animals – the shapeshifters. The Transmuters.

Dakota turned his face back to the chemicals. Every prisoner was used for something – and he and only six others were the ones responsible for making C-SEFT, a drug meant to unite individuals with their spirit animals.

He remembered his Totem Ceremony when he was twelve – like everyone in the village, they would have to set out on a journey to show what they've learned and that they are ready to be a man. In this journey, they would have to hunt on their own for the first time and they would have to bring home what they caught. If they caught enough, they would earn a Totem Ceremony, where they would reward him with their spirit animal. Women have a different process to go through that he never learned about, but if they passed they would also be granted a Totem Ceremony.

Dakota's spirit animal was a lion. Brave, bold, powerful – he took great pride in his earning, but he never would have the chance to take advantage of it. He was hopeless.

Six others reduced to five, when the man in the desk next to Dakota simply laid down his head, and it didn't rise again. The small group were scared as to what was to become of them, since the last person that died resulted in seven lashings on each side of their body just out of sadistic spite. The person that told the soldiers received ten.

They all looked at each other. Nobody was going to volunteer this, of course, and nobody wanted to pick a message man either, Dakota especially. The jacket he was given with the unknown message apparently made the soldiers completely aware that his father was working with Taq as punishment, so they purposely would give him "special" treatment.

"Please, don't make me do it," the little boy in the corner said after a stunned pause. His voice was trembling, and his body followed suit. He looked no older than twelve, and he was part of the newest group to enter the camp about three months ago. It looked like that he lied about his age too, and he barely made the cut. When the last person of the C-SEFT manufacturers died, and after the boy received his seven lashings like everyone else, one soldier took him into a private room. Nobody knows what they did to him, but when he came back, his clothing was torn and he wouldn't stop crying for hours, the hope left in his eyes were ripped from him, and he looked more soulless than those who were held captive in the camps for longer than six years. Dakota had an idea about what they did, and the very thought disgusted him. He had his fair share of fondling from the soldiers at the camp, but he didn't come out of it quite like the boy did, until he realized they may have done something more. When he made the connection, he vomited. "Please," the little boy pleaded.

"We won't," Dakota said definitively, helping reduce the boy's trauma just only slightly, but he looked around at the others. The men around him carried similar fear, but not for the same reason as the boy did. There was silence for what felt like hours, before he finally took a deep breath and turned to the door. He was shaking just as hard as the others, maybe even as much as the boy was. When it felt like he stopped breathing, but he stood up. Nobody said a word, but watched as he walked to the exit and opened the door.

Immediately, he was shot at.

Screaming, he ducked down and lurched to the side to avoid being hit by the bullet as the door slammed behind him. They shot at him, sure, but just to stir a reaction, as the bullet was above him by the clock.

They shouted at him in Amestrian, a few standing up, and he wasn't able to understand anything except a few random words. The prisoner shakily rose back up to his feet and turned to face them, pointing behind him with a crooked finger that couldn't stay still in one place. "Someone died," he said in his own language bluntly, his voice cracking with every syllable.

The soldiers understood him, and they looked at each other. One of them simply stood, reaching into his back and pulling off his belt. Dakota just kept his head up and closed his eyes, he was ready.

The first hit was on his face, coming from a downwards angle on the right side, with so much force that it knocked him down to his knees and pushed him to the left some. He started to scramble to his hands and knees, only to be kicked down and a soldier stepping over top him and lifting off Dakota's jacket and thin shirt. With his back exposed to the cold air, the next whip came down and took his breath – the gasp lodged itself in his throat – and he didn't have the chance to breathe again.

He turned his head to see other soldiers cheering their friend on as he beat the boy beneath him with such force and brutality that he actually lost count of the amount of times he was hit on both sides of his body. With one final hit to draw blood, the solider finished, grabbing him by the hair and yanking him out of the building to the outside where he threw him onto the rocky pavement. Of course it was raining.

The cold water burned his skin as he fumbled to stand up, bare to the rest of the world around him. The soldier threw his uniform back to him, but they landed in an icy puddle caked with mud, leaving him to dig through it and put them back on himself.

He then went into the room to take care of the corpse.

As he stood, Dakota finished putting his clothes back on, his breathing shaking and uneven. There were tears on his face? He couldn't tell at this point. He was just tasting salt on his lips, and he assumed it wasn't from the rain.

He looked at the sky above him, dark clouds lulled over the ground below and dumped hail and water. It was just as colourless as it had always been.

"Dakota!"

He quickly turned to the source of the call, and he saw that there was a group of men making their way to his direction. They were all higher-up in the military, he could tell by their uniforms, and one stepped forward more than the others, speaking his language, "You are Dakota Ryder, yes?"

He nodded, swallowing hard.

That's when the man took him by the arm and began to force him to walk with him and the group. "You're needed."

Dakota didn't respond, just walking with the others as they drug him through the camps and to the castle he always saw in the window of his workplace. He always imagined what was in the castle, but now that they were taking him there, he was petrified to find out.

He didn't remember much between then and when they forced him through the door, but he remembered seeing extravagant living from the moment he stepped in. They pushed him right past that, up many stairs, and finally, into an office. Once they stopped in to drop the boy off, they immediately dipped out, closing the door behind them.

A man turned to face Dakota, a man with an evil look in his grey eyes. He couldn't forget it, no matter how hard he tried. Even though he has never met this man before in his life, he knew exactly who it was.

"Ah, hello!" Taq greeted him in his language with a warm smile, but it was uncomfortable to look at. It was almost sinister. He patted his hand on the boy's shoulders, setting down his drink as he continued to speak, "Your father was just telling me what a big helper you were when you were a child. Now that you're a man, you should be more capable to help, and I think you would be perfect to help me out!"

"No," Dakota said abruptly, almost regretting letting his mouth move faster than his mind.

Taq laughed, but it wasn't genuine, and his grip tightened on his shoulder. He looked at the boy dead in the eyes, "I'm sorry, I think I just heard you say you _weren't_ going to be my assistant. I might be wrong; my hearing hasn't been the best. Do you mind saying that again?"

This time, Dakota was too afraid to say anything back, just keeping his eyes locked with the man that planned the genocide of his people. The man just sighed and pat his back, walked behind his desk and suddenly pulling up a man bound and gagged, with a blindfold that wrapped around his head more than once. This one was someone that the prisoner was sure to recognize. Something about the way the body was being handled didn't feel right, and he couldn't put his finger on it.

 _Father!_

"Now, I don't want to have to kill Mr. Ryder here, but you're leaving me no choice. So, I'm going to ask you one last time."

This was something that caused a lot of internal conflict – on one hand, he wanted to let his father die for being a traitor to everyone, including his own family. On the other, that was his parent, and he loved him.

Clearly, he thought about it too long, because the man reached over to his pistol and shot Mr. Ryder in the back of the head, the body lurching forward as blood splat against the floor and desk.

"Father!" he cried, reaching for the body before Taq lunged forward and pinned the boy against the wall by his throat.

"You will work for me," he said simply.

"I'll work for you," Dakota repeated, peeking his head back and struggling to get back to his father. With the way this was working out, he quickly realized that his father didn't willingly betray everyone – he was forced to, just like how his son is.

"You will do everything I tell you, or your mother is next," Taq said, smacking the boy's face to get his attention. "Do I make myself clear?"

Dakota only nodded, his body shaking and his hands weak on the man's arm as he desperately tried to push himself away.

"Use your words."

"Yes."

"Yes, _sir_."

"Yes, sir," he corrected himself. When the grip around his throat was released, his body simply plummeted to the ground. He couldn't take his eyes off his father's corpse. However, he did notice something that caught his attention and haunted him until the end of his own life.

The blood was already coagulated – meaning the father had been dead long before he even arrived.

Taq opened the door and said something to his soldiers waiting outside. He couldn't understand what they're saying, even when they drug him from the room and proceeded to take him away.

The room they took him to was dark – candlelit and glowing with a green aura. There were markings in a circle in the middle of the ground, and it looked as though it had been painted there multiple times over. Dark stains were between the white paint, clearly pointed over the darkness. The soldiers pushed him to the centre of the circle, keeping him pinned down with their feet. He looked to his left, seeing a woman with stringy black hair that hung in front of her face. Her dark eyes were sunken in, and she looked as thin as the prisoners he saw daily. A rag for a blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, and she clung to it with her life.

She looked sick – _really_ sick – and he had the uncomfortable feeling that she wasn't going to live past the month. He had seen walking corpses at the camps, and she looked like she was fitting right in with the rest of them as their leader.

Even despite her half-exhausted, edge of death look, she looked like someone that would have been beautiful. She could have even been as beautiful as royalty.

Dakota looked back up to find another soldier holding a syringe with an all-too familiar liquid inside of it. In fact, he was the one that manufactured the liquid. He had no idea what was to happen to him, and he wasn't able to escape, no matter how hard he budged.

The soldier stooped down and injected the liquid right into the centre of his chest.

Immediately, there was pain. More pain than he ever thought he could feel. Dakota screamed. He thrashed and he cried and even after the soldiers stepped off of him, he wasn't able to move anywhere other than around the circle. Lurching around, blood spewed from his mouth, landing right in front of the woman wrapped the torn blanket. She winced, and a soldier pushed her towards the circle, where, shaking, she placed her hands.

During this time, there was only blackness. The only things he could sometimes see was random areas of the room whenever his eyes decided to focus, but he could hear his screaming. The pain never left him – and it in fact was more prominent than ever.

If there was any point in time he wanted to die, it was now.

* * *

When Dakota came to, he found himself lying in a bed, his head throbbing and his bloodstream burning. The pain was a lot milder than it was earlier, but it was still there – even if it was a dull, gnawing agony that bothered him just like he was starving.

"Well, looks like my new right hand man has some strength to him."

Dakota turned his head to the source of the voice, only to see the man he despised sitting right next to him, waiting.

"What did you do to me?" He asked.

Taq smiled, his grin wicked as he stood up, extending his hand. The prisoner didn't take it, until he was smacked in the face to enforce that he had no other choice. Taking his captor's hand, he pushed himself to his feet.

"Good, you're learning," he kept his smile, and started to walk, instructing his second to follow him along. "You're going to be living a very different life than in the camps, my boy," he explained.

Dakota swallowed hard – he didn't know if different was a good or bad thing. If things kept up like it did in the past, different was bad. It was always bad; and this would fall in line with every other event.

"What did you do to me?"

"You'll find out eventually," Taq explained. As they walked, he began to talk to the boy as if there was no malice between them to begin with. "You handled this situation very well. A lot of people don't survive the C-SEFT injection, much less wake up within a few hours after the initial transmutation."

"What happened?"

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, kid, you sound like a fucking broken record, you know that right?" The older man sighed, as he opened a door that lead to an open field. It was a training field, where animals of all kinds were fighting, and Taq just looked at him. "Go on then," he said simply, expecting the boy to immediately to know what he was talking about. "To trigger it," he elaborated, "Think about your spirit animal, and you'll change. I haven't seen what you are yet, so this would be interesting."

Dakota didn't know what he meant, and he didn't move, just staring at his superior, dumbfounded. Suddenly, he was pushed down the concrete stairs, the pain escalating once he reached the bottom; he was fairly certain he heard something crack. He thought about what his spirit animal was – the lion – and he didn't know how to take it. What did that mean? What did the lion have to do with fighting a bunch of animals on the field? It was then when he noticed a change.

It started with green lights, like in the transmutation, then his vision blurred. He cried out – the pain in his bloodstream intensifying as he heard his own screaming slowly shift to a roar. He looked down at his hands, to find that they weren't hands anymore. Hair hung in front of his face – but it wasn't his hair, nor was it hair to begin with.

"Holy shit, kid!" Taq laughed from the top of the stairs. "I didn't know I was dealing with a fucking _lion_! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this is going to be great."

Dakota turned back to face the field, when his captor whistled for man to train their newest chimera. He had never been in a fight in his life, and he was petrified that he was going to die right then and there. A tiger crawled up to him, slow and cautious, and started to teach the fighting without ever explaining it.

It just happened, and it worked.

Exhausted, Dakota stumbled to the side, the tiger standing proudly as it began to transform back into a human. "Not bad," he said, dusting himself off. "Also, you need to think of the memory that made you feel the most human in order for you to turn back. It'll take some time at first, but you'll get to it once you think of it. Just think of what made you feel alive."

What made him feel alive?

He thought about it, before it was the irony of all ironies that hit him – the very absurd idea that made it just as real as the grass he lied on.

What made him feel alive?

 _Dying_.

It was the moments in his life where Death held his hand, where he would see the elder he failed to protect, where he would find himself sleeping on the camps rocks – on his own bed. It was when he felt every little movement in his stomach as it cried out for food, it was when he was smothered and pushed himself to someplace free for a little drink of air, it was when he felt his own life depleting.

That was what made him feel alive.

He didn't feel himself transform back to human – but it happened. He found himself lying in the grass, head on the side and everyone around him thinking he had simply passed out from exhaustion. He didn't move. He didn't breathe, he didn't blink, he didn't cry.

The new chimera pushed himself onto his back, where his eyes trailed up and looked up, his body completely vulnerable to the gentle rain that had started to return. Nothing had changed from the camps – only the location. Dakota didn't say anything. He just stared at the sky.

Grey.

Everything was grey.

* * *

First things first:

WAS THIS DEPRESSING?!

I hope so. I had like six people look at this before I published it. xD So finally, Dakota has been established, and so was the mysterious Mr. Ryder from a few chapters ago. Hopefully you guys liked this chapter! By like I mean were completely shattered by what you read I hope you were getting all of the feels.

But in a good way, fam, I'm not that sadistic. I'm just a writer.

So, to wrap this: thank you guys so much for reading and I'll see you all in the next chapter!

-Elena


	17. Chapter Sixteen: That is Lost

WARNINGS FOR: Language, mentions of death

SONGS I USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: My "Dead Aim Alchemist" playlist on Spotify! Also, "In Regards to Love: Agape"

YES, I AM ALIVE I WAS JUST STUPIDLY BUSY! But thank you for sticking with me through this anyway. Since I have literally no inspiration for "Bond" at all I'm going to be working on this until I can get some xD Also, I was thinking on writing some fanfiction for Yuri! On Ice, which is recently becoming a new obsession of mine. Let me know if you guys think I should! Thank you again so much for reading! Enjoy!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen**

 **That is Lost**

"Riza, Riza. God, please. Riza."

When her eyes opened, he let out a breath of relief. He gently rested his head on her chest, and she watched as the weight on his body was removed, allowing him to breathe easy once more.

She felt oxygen rushing into her nostrils – the air was cold. She glanced down at her body: wires, cords, tubes, the whole setup. Everyone was petrified that a pregnant woman was shot, and it wasn't just any pregnant woman, either. It was the Lieutenant, of all people – fifth time pregnant but this baby has already lived longer than all the past ones put together.

Her eyes wondered around the room. There was nobody there except for the General. She should have known: he called her by her name. She looked back to him, her voice as weak as the rest of her body, "Roy?"

"Shh," he shushed, looking back up to the Lieutenant. "Take it easy. You lost a lot of blood from the gunshot."

The Lieutenant, however, didn't care about her own health. She remembered when Winry was pregnant with Marcus, she would often overlook her own health and well-being to make sure everything was perfect for her son. She said what her mother had told her, that when a woman becomes a mother, her life is no longer her own. The Lieutenant understood it, but not to the extent of how it is now. "The baby–"

"–The baby is fine. The wound was nowhere near. Everything is fine. That being said, you need to take care of yourself," he said with a deep breath, reaching his hand up and brushing her hair out of her face with his fingers. He was still gloved.

"General, he has the Elrics."

"I know, I know, shh," he told her, rising to a stand, but keeping his palm on her hand. "I got a call from Marcus about it roughly an hour ago. News about what happened here already travelled to Creta. I didn't have the chance to tell him about that man, but the next time they call I'll make sure to tell them everything." The General didn't even remember his name. He made a mental note in his head to go back through the files and figure it out before the eldest calls back.

Before the Lieutenant could speak, the General spoke over top of her to answer her question. "He was going to call me once they get off the train into Liore. They're looking for Rose Thomas. Apparently they found a lead. It's convoluted as hell, but they found one."

"They're in for one hell of a lead after you talk to them," the Lieutenant mumbled as she shifted to make herself more comfortable with all the tubes and wires. The General just nodded.

The children were in for a lot more than just one hell of a lead.

* * *

"How is she?" Isabelle asked, lowering the newspaper with a headline that read "CENTRAL MILITARY HQ ATTACKED" as her brother walked to their seats.

"Mustang said she and the baby are fine," Marcus replied as he sat down, the train whistle starting to blow. He barely made it on board in time. "I told him I would call him back once we get to Liore."

"We won't have time," his sister informed him as she pulled out a map, explaining what they had to do the minute they stepped off the train. It was almost impossible to call the General back like that, so he had to think of another time. And yet, another time wouldn't look like a reality until the next week. "You'll have to call him later."

Marcus didn't think of it too much, so he just shrugged with a deep breath. "I'll find a time."

The girl nodded in response, turning back to the newspaper, noticing she wasn't mentioned in it at all, which relieved her slightly. It felt like forever before the public finally started to get off her ass.

She glanced up, her brother staring out the window. His arms were crossed and the side of his head was pressed against the glass, his hair had since grown shaggy, long enough to cover the scar that would forever remain on the back of his neck. Was he thinking about it?

"You okay?"

Marcus turned back to face his sister, who was eyeing him carefully, worriedly. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just thinking, that's all," he said.

"What about?"

"All this," he replied, his hands gesturing to everywhere. "And some other things too, but I'll tell you about it later."

"What is it?"

"I don't want to talk about it right now, it upsets me thinking about it," Marcus told her simply. The Elrics exchanged a look, and he just sighed, noticing the gleam in his sister's eyes, asking without opening her mouth. His hand glided behind him to rub the back of his neck, his fingers grazing across the scar. Smiley Faces have never been so awful. "No, I actually forgot all about him for the moment. Thanks for reminding me."

Isabelle sighed. She knew her brother was being sarcastic and an overall ass, but it still bothered her that he said it. She didn't like thinking about him either, but here recently, he was all she could think about. "Sorry."

Marcus turned back to his sister, then exhaled. "You need to quit beating yourself up over it."

They had a long way until Liore.

"Sorry."

* * *

"Papa, I don't get it."

Edward turned his head from his books to his six-year-old daughter over a transmutation circle, the lines were simple but it was something to get her started. She had shown an interest in "Papa's magic" ever since she was three, and she was old enough to understand the basics. However, despite being the smartest girl in her grade at school, it seemed that she was struggling. It would become the norm for Isabelle – having such a top-notch brain and one of if not the smartest minds recorded in Amestrian History, the gifted alchemy stayed only with her father. Even until the day she died, Edward Elric would always be a better alchemist than her, his talent making history.

Her talents lied elsewhere.

"What's confusing you, babygirl?" he asked, kneeling down to look at her circle. It was a good start, despite crooked lines and circle's outlines that were *that* close from being circular instead of ovular.

"I can't do the magic," she said, clapping her hands like her uncle would, and placing them on the circle to demonstrate. However, there were no contents within the circle.

Edward noticed this, and nodded. "I see. Now, Izzy, what's the most important rule I taught you?"

"You can't bring someone back to life."

" _Second_ most important rule," he corrected himself.

"Equivalent Exchange," she said without missing a beat.

He nodded, "exactly. Now, apply that to here. Why can't you do alchemy?"

Isabelle thought for a moment, looking around at her circle, chubby fingers tapping the floor. Mr. and Mrs. Elric had a slight habit of feeding the girl too much since she was prematurely born and sickly for a good portion of her infanthood. They often would give her extra food or make her stay in the sun a little longer to make sure she's getting the nutrients she needs to grow up healthy. Even Marcus got in on the deal after they explained to him that Isabelle was fragile, especially during childhood. Because of it, she had leftover baby fat until she started to independently feed herself when she turned twelve.

"Oh!" the child cried, her face brightening, her cheeks growing in volume as she smiled. "I need stuff in the circle."

Edward smiled in approval. "Very good, babygirl. What are you trying to make?"

"'S a surprise," she grinned with a giggle. She pushed herself up and waddled to the toy box Edward had set off to the side specifically for chemicals and loose junk that can be used for Isabelle's transmutations. Other things that wouldn't be safe for her to use he kept put up and he would only allow her to use it if he supervised it carefully. "Go away, I don't want you to see."

Her father laughed, walking back to his desk to continue his work. But, he wasn't working. He paused, waited to hear her gather her supplies and dump them onto the circle, then he turned back around to see.

"Papa! No peeking!" Isabelle noticed immediately.

He laughed, snapping his fingers, "Damn, you caught me," he said in a playful voice.

"Papa! That's a bad word!"

"You're right, you're right. Don't say what I say," he laughed again, turning back to his desk. This time, he didn't turn back around, even when he started to hear a transmutation. He saw her first transmutation, and he had never felt so proud in his life. She used leftover wood and made a statue that was apparently was supposed to be him, but it was so poorly done it was unrecognisable as anything more than a mannequin with a vague humanoid shape.

He bragged about how beautiful it was to everybody he knew for _weeks_.

Ever since then, he wanted to watch every single transmutation she does, the pride never left him. He finally knew how Winry felt when Marcus tinkered with some nuts and bolts to make a toy car that broke apart after rolling for six seconds. The parents wanted nothing more than their kids to succeed. Even better, to succeed farther than them.

The sounds finished, and instead of an approving deep breath, he started to hear his daughter cry. He turned around quickly, suddenly worried, and noticed that she wasn't hurt, but instead shedding tears over her creation. He sighed in relief and walked to her, not kneeling.

He instead picked up the gift she made: a little toy animal similar to ones he used to make when he about her age. He thought it was precious. It was covered with transmutation marks and the shapes were sloppy, but that's what made them charming. He made sure to add it to his little collection of random things his daughter would make. He looked back to her. "Why are you crying babygirl?"

"I don't like it. I wanted it to be pretty so you would like it," she hiccupped.

"But I _do_ like it," Edward smiled, bending down and picking up the child into his arms. She took the toy from him and fiddled with it in her plump fingers, her breathing through her mouth was audible.

"It looks ugly."

"Why do you think it looks ugly?" he asked her, his voice calm and gentle, resting her to where she was sitting on his arm and with his other hand he wiped her tears off her face.

She pointed to random transmutation skids across the metal. "See? It's ugly."

"But what if I like ugly?" Edward asked, his smile was warm and tender, and his voice as smooth as honey.

Isabelle shook her head. "You don't like ugly."

This stifled a laugh from her father. "Alright then. Why do you think I don't like ugly?"

"Because you married Mommy."

At that moment, he snorted. He placed his daughter down to prevent from dropping her as he laughed. Seeing the look of confusion, he simply took a deep breath to calm his laughter, taking her by the hand, and started to escort her out of the office with the little figurine in his hand.

"Hey, Winry! Look at what your daughter made."

* * *

Edward blinked open his eyes, despite his subconscious thinking of his daughter, the first thought on his conscious was someone else.

 _Winry…_

He had seen all kinds of news about his daughter and son in the newspapers and on the television and whatever information their captor decided to share with him and his brother, but there had been nothing on his wife.

His wife…how was she? Judging from the fact Isabelle and Marcus managed to make it out of the ambush and Winry wasn't loaded onto the vehicle with him and Alphonse, he knew she was alive too, but what was she doing?

The poor woman must be worried sick. Did she cry? He hoped that she didn't, but knowing the way she was, and after everything that happened, she most likely has. Maybe not for them (well, maybe as in there was a one percent chance she didn't), but definitely for their children.

God, their children!

Isabelle had blood on her hands, and Marcus was almost murdered by a serial killer because of his sexuality. He didn't even know about his son's sexuality.

It was like he was finding out more about his children through the _newspapers_ instead of what they told him and Winry. What else were they hiding, that only they knew? Their captor made a conscious effort not to give them anything that merely mentioned Winry's death, waiting for the right moment to strike the brothers with this information.

He wanted to kill them with it.

He wanted to wait until the right time to tell him about the death of his wife. He was itching to spill the beans about how their children lost their mother.

 _Mother…_

Edward thought of his mother. Alphonse had thought of her often, too, but in this time they understood so much more about her than they ever could picture. Every time their captor came downstairs, there was a sting of fear that he finally caught one of them – or worse. Almost all their thoughts were occupied with the two kids. From the rare instances Alphonse and May would have the privilege of speaking, there would be no sign of Isabelle or Marcus anywhere. However, they were aware of their last reunion on Marcus's twentieth birthday, and he couldn't help but smile when he heard her story.

It was something.

However, recently he hasn't been able to see her. It worried him, fear boiling in the back of his mind on a thousand what if situations. What if they were cut off? What if they transferred her? What if she's dead?

Every day it was the same struggle.

Either their captor would come down to try to convince Alphonse to take part in the transmutations, or to give them bad news that he heard in the papers. He was adamant that one day the alchemist would break, but the alchemist refused every time, no matter what was done to him or Edward.

Edward really had no purpose other than leverage against his brother. In the beginning, it was the other way around, as their captor would try anything he could to get Edward to create a formula – a recipe – for the perfect chimera. He knew the Fullmetal Alchemist was one of, if not the best alchemists in history, and he would know exactly how to make it if he saw what they wanted to do.

Initially, he refused, but it quickly changed after Alphonse gained a few new scars that were painful to receive, and painful to watch. His brother forgave him for breaking under the pressure, but he never forgave himself.

Since then, the C-SEFT project began: now the brothers trading roles. Alphonse shared part of Edward's gift, and their captor knew this. He wanted the younger brother to take part in the same actions his fiancé was doing, but unlike her, he still refused.

Despite what happened to Edward, Alphonse kept his head high, because he had the horrible suspicion that after he started with the C-SEFT project, he would no longer have an older brother. The pain of watching his brother be physically tortured was worse than his own physical suffering. And that feeling never left him – _if I give in, brother is going to die._

It was probably paranoia, but given the situation they were in, and the situation the children were in, paranoia was a safe option. In fact, paranoia was probably the most logical option they had – it was the most likely outcome.

However, on some mornings like this one, he did not come downstairs. He didn't torture the brothers, and it made them wonder if he was simply torturing somebody else.

"Hey, Al," Edward spoke after a moment. "You awake?"

Alphonse had a tendency to sleep a lot after he got his body back, or overindulge in food. He equally enjoyed periods of not eating or sleeping so he experience being tired or hunger. In a way, he even enjoyed pain – it made him feel more alive.

The younger brother raised his head, shaking it slightly to move the hair from his eyes. Both of their hair had grown out quite a lot since being in captivity; the luxury of having their hair cut was out of the equation. "Yeah," he responded with a gruff voice, "I'm up."

"What's-his-face didn't come down today."

"I noticed," Alphonse smiled just slightly in the crook of his mouth, but it faded away just as quick as it came. "If I had to guess he's most likely dropping the hammer on May."

Normally, his older brother would tell him to try not to think like that and to look on the bright side of their situation, but they were in their situation for too long. They knew better. The pause was heavy, and he decided to change the subject altogether, "Do you think the kids got the pen by now?"

"Do you want my honest answer or the answer you want to hear, brother?"

Edward's words caught on his tongue, stopping at his teeth and swallowed back down his throat. They both knew this plan of theirs was a stretch, and it was a miracle that still nobody had found out by now. It was the only option they had, even if it wasn't a good one.

"You gave the pen to somebody that's never met Isabelle, nor Marcus."

"I have the pen to somebody that specializes in hunting people down," the older brother corrected. "He's a bounty hunter. I'm not stupid enough to go out on that kind of limb."

"What makes you think that he'd find them, and even then, what makes you think they'd know what to do with it?" Alphonse had had these questions bottled up inside him since the pen was sent out, and even more so once they saw Julia for the first time in forever.

"I know my daughter, and I know my son. They're smart kids – hell, Isabelle is a classified genius. Once he tells them that the pen came from me, the first thing either of them would do is inspect and investigate every centimetre of it. Isabelle can do whatever she normally does as a detective. What I'm counting on is Marcus picking it apart to tinker with it, just like how he used to. He gets that from his mother. Even if they don't talk to Julia and she doesn't tell them what I said, once they get the pen, they'd still want to tinker with it and see what's hidden in it."

The younger brother half-rolled his eyes and shook his head, "You're hoping on too much, Ed. Even if, let's say they get the pen and the guy remembers to tell them that it's from you. There's such a small possibility they'd know what to do with it. They'd throw it away before they figure it out."

In a moment, Edward actually lost what hope he had in his plan. However, he remembered one very important detail that guarantees they would find out eventually. "It's not sturdy, it's actually designed to break on rough impact."

Alphonse paused, making the same connection his brother made. Every answer was inside that little pen, and if they have to break it to get to it, then so be it.

Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but the chances were high that it was going to work.

They were saved.

* * *

"When did you find this out?"

"Last week. It came in the mail."

"Do you plan on telling her?"

"Eventually, once we get there."

"With the route she's got planned, you'll get there before you can think twice about your decision."

"No, I know Izzy. She's very thorough. She'll spent months in a place if she can't find something before she'd decide to move on."

"Are you sure about this?"

"No. That's why I brought this up to you. You knew my father better than anyone else that isn't family. You would know what he would want me to do."

"You overestimate me."

"You would have a better idea than anyone else."

"This is still a big decision."

"I understand, and I just need opinions."

"…I say you should probably do it. You have been dreaming of this for years, and I can send someone to take your place if you're worried about Isabelle's protection."

"What do you think Papa would want?"

"It doesn't matter what we all want for you, Marcus. What matters is what you want for you. This is your decision son, and only you can make that decision."

"Don't call me son."

"…Sorry."

"…"

"…Just remember that it's up to you."

"Thank you, General."

* * *

It had been _weeks_ since Isabelle had slept properly in Liore. She couldn't find anything, not even Rose Thomas (who, once she did actually find, couldn't answer a single question). Liore was a bustling city filled with so many people from all walks of life, making it that much harder to find a lead.

It wasn't fair.

She'd break her neck just for the off-chance that someone would know what the hell she was talking about or what she was looking for, and she would get nothing except a bunch of "I don't know"s and half-assed shrugs with looks of confusion.

Isabelle would give anything to put this Elric Case to an end, but that didn't mean that she was giving up. It meant that she was going to look further and work harder than before to find her family and put the case to a close herself. The last thing she was going to do was give up on finding her father and uncle, who are probably still alive out there somewhere – and she wouldn't let anyone stand in her way.

But that didn't make the case any less frustrating.

As much as she didn't like to admit it, she had searched every speck of Liore at least three times over, and checked up with everyone at least twice. This meant that she was going to have to move on.

It was strange. She went from a lead with grand significance in Table City to scraping the bottom of the barrel for anything in Liore. It felt like she was working backwards of what she should be, and she came to the conclusion that her family never came to Liore in the first place.

Up next was Yous Well, which had nothing except coal. The miners spoke fondly of her father and uncle, and they gave her nothing but condolences. No answers, no leads, nothing to work with. She was at least looking for anybody with a ballpoint pen like how Julia mentioned. He said _the_ ballpoint pen as if she knew what the fuck he was talking about. However, based on that logic, it wasn't any pen that could be found in a store.

Somebody had it.

She had killed one more person during her time travelling around – and she wouldn't have had the wife not wished for it before her husband beat her. Even then, she had trouble coming to the conclusion of taking the abuser's life, but she remembered something very important that Marcus told her once.

It was after they were recovered from the Smiley Face Killer, the heavy silence weighed on them in the car while they just held each other in their arms.

"Marcus, do you hate me?" She said in a quiet sob as she looked up from her brother's shirt.

"Why would I?" He moved her hair from her face and brushed it behind her ear. Her eyes gestured behind her, meaning about what happened in the basement. He sighed, looking at her and gently told her, "Men deserve to go to jail. Dogs deserve to be put down."

This piece of shit was a dog, just like the killer she chopped down months before.

The siblings had plans to go to Kaumafy, a town by Resembool to see if they had seen anything the night her family had been kidnapped. However, it was October, and Marcus insisted on returning to Central. Isabelle knew why, too.

Her fifteenth birthday was soon – _very_ soon – and he wanted to take her to the General and Lieutenant so they could celebrate it together. Isabelle hoped and prayed with every ounce of her that there was no party or anything of the sorts. She didn't even want them to sing happy birthday; she hated that song so much the very thought of it made her sick to her stomach.

The train was uncomfortable, but the only thing more uncomfortable than that was the fact she didn't turn up any leads, and her birthday was literally the next day. She hated her birthday. She wished that they would just acknowledge her getting older and don't do anything else. That would have saved her family. That would have kept her mother alive.

 _Mama…_

"Isabelle," Marcus said. His sister's head snapped in his direction from the window, suddenly alert. "Are you okay?"

Her face twisted into confusion, and she nodded, "I'm just thinkin', why?"

"Looks like we've both been doing a lot of that here recently, haven't we?" He sighed. There were tears on her face, but it looked like she didn't even know they were there. It was as if she had no reason to be sad at all. Her brother decided not to tell her. "You just looked troubled."

"What have you been thinkin' about?" Isabelle asked.

Marcus paused for a moment, then swallowed hard. "Look, there's something I have to talk to you about."

"What is it?"

Before he could get a chance at responding, the train whistled as it came to a stop, signalling their arrival in Central. "I'll tell you later. Come on, the General's waiting."

* * *

The door opened for the first time that day. The light was almost blinding to the brothers, and they couldn't make out who descended the stairs. Once their vision focused once more, they saw someone with flaming orange hair and amber eyes. He was a young boy, but he had the same eyes as the General – cold.

He held two trays as he descended, his hair was normal for a boy his age, grown out but nicely combed. He looked like he had been starved, but has since had the privilege of eating regularly again and started to gain all the weight he lost.

"Hey kid," Edward said as he inched towards the bars, "I haven't seen you before. Who are you?"

Dakota turned his head to face him, his accent was thick on his word but he had to quickly learn the language. He was getting better at it every day, "I am afraid I cannot help you escape, Mr. Elric. I am just providing you with food for today." He slid the tray under his cell and turned to the younger brother.

He opened the cell and walked in, sitting in front of Alphonse and started to tear the bits of bread into bite sizes. "I was instructed you couldn't feed yourself." The man before him only nodded, knowing very well why they had forced his hands and fingers so far apart to begin with, so it would have been wise to take necessary precautions against an alchemist like him.

Dakota picked up a piece of bread and put it in front of the alchemist's mouth for him to eat, and he did so while making an effort to pick up the food with his teeth instead of his lips or tongue. This wasn't the first time he was fed, after all.

"Looks like our good friend is hiring younger and younger," Edward mumbled as he ate what was on his plate. "Kid, you're working for terrible, terrible people. You need to leave as soon as you get the chance."

The boy paused, looking for the right word as he fed the prisoner. "I am fully aware of this, Mr. Elric, but I cannot do anything about it." He turned his head back to face the older one, who had finished his food quickly. "I did not have a choice, and I do not have the privilege of leaving."

"We could help each other out then," Alphonse quickly interjected. The boy turned to face the alchemist with confusion on his face. "You help us out, we'll help you."

"Are you suggesting that I can help you escape?" The word triggered something within him, and it caused a nauseating feeling deep within his stomach. "How can I know that you two will help me out as well?"

"You'll just have to trust us," he replied.

Dakota thought about the camps. Once, he helped a young man escape when he was supposed to go with him. However, the young man did not lift the fence to help him out, but instead ran away without him, leaving him in the camps to be nearly beaten to death.

He shoved the last chuck of food into the brother's mouth forcefully, then stood, collecting the trays. "I am sorry, but I am afraid I cannot trust either of you."

He ascended up the stairs, and left the brothers behind in the cells.

* * *

By now, the Lieutenant had a bump on her stomach that she gleamed in. The happiness that radiated off of her was contagious to everyone, the General especially. In fact, during the car ride to the Estate, that's all the General talked about. The kids never called since Liore, and so there was a lot to talk about.

"You kids really missed a lot. You haven't seen the Lieutenant yet, haven't you? Wow, I didn't think it was possible but she became even prettier with a big belly! The little bun in the oven should be just as cute, too, I'll be sure to take lots of pictures! Etc., etc."

Isabelle didn't know how to feel about the General gloating about his wife and upcoming child – but she still felt happy for the two of them. She had heard about how they tried many times and failed, so this child would be something special.

If anything, she felt sick from his God awful driving.

He never once mentioned anything wrong, which raised a couple of suspicions with the kids, but they didn't think too much into it as Marcus was trying to make sure his sister had a good time.

"Say, Isabelle, how's your case been going?" The General finally asked as he turned into their driveway.

"Other than the lead Marcus mentioned, there's been nothing," Isabelle responded in a helpless tone, which was a lie. Their last day at Yous Well, Isabelle was greeted by someone that kept themselves in the dark.

" _The princess is coming," he had said. "She's going to be driven through Central at dawn."_

" _What the hell are you talking about?" Isabelle asked, trying to peek into the shadows to see him, but he only stepped away. "Who are you?"_

" _She'll be in the vehicle you'll expect. You can't miss it, there's a parade of them."_

" _What're you talking about?" she asked again. "When?"_

 _He stayed quiet for a moment, the said one thing more before he slipped away: "Happy Birthday."_

She planned on telling him, but not then. He would have acted rash, which was the last thing that they needed him to do on the road.

The General held back a smile, which made her angry. "What the hell are you grinnin' about?" One thing that Marcus noticed was that her accent would come back out a little whenever she would get angry and yell about something. He never mentioned it, because he missed hearing her natural voice.

One incident would make him hate it as much as she does.

"I wasn't grinning," the General said simply. He disguised the rest of his demeanour as solemn, and carried on as if nothing happened at all. He knew something.

The rest of the day consisted of a small feast to welcome the two children back home, discussing the Lieutenant's pregnancy – "oh Isabelle don't worry about it! The baby and I are fine." – and planning for the girl's fifteenth birthday.

"Keep everything at an absolute minimum, I don't want to think about my birthday too much, I'll just think of it as a day off," Isabelle told them, her voice serious. She didn't tell them about the fact she killed another, but they didn't ask.

As the sun set, Isabelle started to ascend the stairs to room before the Lieutenant grabbed her arm. "Hey, come back down. We want to talk to you." Those word always rubbed the girl the wrong way; it gave her an anxiety that she hated having. She knew she wasn't in trouble for anything or whatnot, but she didn't like the suspense of not knowing what was going to be coming.

She walked back down and sat next to Marcus on the couch as they were instructed, which confused the two even more. The look on his face told his sister that he didn't have any idea what the hell was going on either, so they were in good company as they normally would be when they travelled. The Lieutenant sat on one side of the loveseat, watching the children more than her husband. She knew something too.

"So," The General spoke as he walked in front of them as if they were an audience, pacing back and forth slowly with his hands tucked neatly in his pockets. "A visitor came to my office yesterday."

Already, Isabelle felt sick to her stomach. Based on the serious nature of the Lieutenant and the General, something had happened. Mustang turned his head and made eye contact with his foster daughter, while his face may be frowning, there was joy behind his eyes. What was going on?

"He was looking for you," he said as he nodded towards the girl. "He wanted to give you something, but he knew I knew you. So, he entrusted me with it for me to give to you today."

He couldn't contain himself any longer. His face erupted into a smile as he pulled something out from his pocket and placed it neatly on the coffee table in front of the Elric children. "Consider this an early birthday present."

Isabelle turned her head to see what the General had put down, and she leapt from her seat onto her feet with a gasp.

It was the ballpoint pen.

* * *

Yay! Things are quickening again! I'm sorry that this chapter feels rushed, because it was. I originally wanted to show all the adventures Isabelle had and such, but considering the lack of reaction with the fic, I decided that I'll just skip the fluff and focus on the story itself.

Anyway! I hope you guys enjoyed the fic and thank you so much for reading!

-Elena


	18. Chapter Seventeen: Long Awaited Family

WARNINGS FOR: Language, violence, death

SONGS I USED TO GET IN THE MOOD: Literally the Fullmetal Alchemist and Yuri on Ice soundtrack. Also, the "ZEN II" video on YouTube – it's a compilation of songs that's about an hour long that's chillstep but Japanese inspired.

Hey guys! I just came back from Chicago because I saw Hamilton and it was AMAZING! I got to meet Wayne Brady, who played Burr, and Chris Lee, who played Lafayette/Jefferson, respectively. I got autographs and pictures and I even got to go on the stage with them and take a backstage tour! I'm so breathless. I'm still incredibly happy from it, and I'm so happy this happened. Anyways! I was wanting to start writing a Yuri on Ice fanfiction, but I found out that it wouldn't work with the canon, so I decided to leave it be. However, if you guys want me to write a YOI fanfic but under a different circumstance, please tell me! I've been itching to write something with that universe but I don't know what. Shout out goes to firehot123 for reading my fanfictions and leaving reviews! I really appreciate it you have no idea. Anyways! Enough with my rambling, let's get on with the story. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

-Elena

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen**

 **Long Awaited Family**

"The pen is mightier than the sword."

Isabelle had read those words once before in an alchemy textbook she was reading. She knew the meaning behind it – that smarts and wit have more power than brute force – but it oddly reminded her of what was happening just now.

That pen might as well have just struck her down dead.

"Who gave this to you?" Isabelle barely managed to croak the words out of her mouth, picking up the pen and examining it carefully. She was looking for any way that pen has a message written on it, but it didn't.

"Someone you aren't allowed to know about until you're a high enough ranking," the General replied. "I didn't even know about this kid even as a General until here recently – that's how private he is to us."

While he spoke, the words seemed to phase out of her ears. All she could hear was a ringing as she methodically fiddled with the pen. She swirled the ball point across her fingers, letting the sensation help her think.

 _Papa._

"Isabelle," Marcus interrupted as she snapped her head in his direction. "He said it's in the pen."

She nodded. "Right," she told herself, screwing around with the thin metal as black ink wrote itself all the way up her arms. "I can't get it open," she confessed, sitting down as she twiddled around with it.

"Let me see," Marcus requested, carefully taking the pen away from her and looking at the craftsmanship. It was honestly, in his eyes, a work of art. It was such an innovative idea that he was so in awe about its existence there were times he forgot what he was supposed to be doing with the new toy. He tinkered with it carefully, sure not to break it so he could put it back together to use it after they figure it out. As he twisted and tugged at the parts, he calmly spoke to himself everything about this little pen. The diameter, the millimetre, the weight, all of it was for his own reference for when he would create Automail. Finally, after about five minutes of no progress, he sighs and sets it down on the table as he sits back down. "I can't see any screws or anything. I don't know what to do with it."

"Well, clearly, there's a way to break it apart," Isabelle instructed to a general audience as she used the pen to draw a surface onto a piece of paper.

"I wouldn't do that," the General intervened from where he sat on the couch. He and the Lieutenant had been watching them carefully, making sure things were going alright with the kids as his hand was carefully placed on her abdomen. There were still stacks of boxes from when the Lieutenant finally finished moving in completely from her apartment. She couldn't exactly up and leave while on a fifteen-year contract. "If there's something inside it, alchemy could affect it."

Good point.

Isabelle crumbled up the paper and tossed it behind her, picking up the small object and fiddling with it some more. "We're just going to have to break it."

"Don't do that, stupid!" Marcus shot up from where he sat. "What if there's nothing physical inside, and it's something metaphoric. You know how he is. And if it's broke, now what are we supposed to do?"

"Listen," Isabelle turned and twisted the pen around in his face to show him that it was completely blank. "Dad isn't that kind of metaphoric. He also doesn't say 'in' something unless he means literally 'in' something!"

"He transcribes literally everything he writes, Isabelle!" He ran his hands through his hair as his voice started to rise with hers. "You know this first-hand!"

"Those are _alchemy_ notes, dumbass! Things he _wouldn't_ want other people to decode and read!"

The General started to stand, trying to break the conflict, "hey now, I'm sure there's other ways we can figure out what to do with this pen."

"And what about this?" Marcus gestured to the pen, completely ignoring the Mustangs. "Don't you think Dad wouldn't want people snooping in on this?"

"Oh wow, a pen, so fucking secretive," Isabelle rolled her eyes. "You know this might just be easier if you let me handle this. I'm a detective, this is what I do for a _living_."

"You're only fourteen! You don't know what living even is."

" _Fifteen_!" Isabelle corrected.

"You're fifteen tomorrow," Marcus corrected overtop of her.

"Does it really fucking matter?" By this point, both children were frustrated. It wasn't because of each other – well, that was a lie. Partially, they were – but because of the goddamned pen that they had been trying to figure out for what felt like forever.

"Does this pen really matter? I mean, what if there's really nothing to it? What if Julia Crichton was one of the Transmuters and was trying to track us?"

"How the ever-loving hell would she track us with a _pen?_ " Isabelle looked at her older brother as if he was stupid.

He noticed this and took offense, because he, in fact, was not stupid. He wasn't a genius like his sister, but he was not stupid. "Quit giving me that look."

"Well quit giving me bullshit about this pen. Sit back and let me do my job!" She waved him off, trying to turn back to the pen, but he grabbed her by the chin and forced her to look at him in the eyes.

"Your 'job' is going to ruin this whole chance at finding Dad and Alphonse! We need to think of alternate things before you break it."

"It's a _fucking pen!_ " Isabelle threw her hands up in the air in frustration. She knew this situation was starting to get ridiculous, and it was bothering her even more. The General had to take his wife to their bedroom because the yelling was starting to agitate her and he was afraid of her going into false labour because of it. "This is fucking ridiculous. There's so much bullshit over a _pen_ that it's actually making me mad! It's just a _pen!_ "

Without thinking about it, Isabelle threw the pen out of pure aggravation. She didn't mean to, and she realised what she had done three seconds too late after she had already thrown it. The pen smacked against the wall, shattering into pieces as it hit the ground.

 _Shit!_

The Elric Children quickly ran to the remains of the pen in a panic, their first thought believing that Isabelle had ruined their chance at finding what remained of their family, but they were proven wrong the moment they stumbled into the scene. There lied a piece of paper, neatly tied and rolled around the ink cartridge.

It was literally _in_ the ballpoint pen, just like he said.

The two lunged at the paper. Isabelle's fingers wrapped around it first, so Marcus quickly yanked his arms back because he didn't want to chance at ripping it. The evidence fumbled in her fingers as she shakily untied the paper and unrolled it.

"Read it, Izzy. What's it say?" Marcus frantically asked his sister while her eyes skimmed across the lettering.

By this point, the General had returned downstairs and leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed and watching intently.

 _November 4_ _th_ _, 1939_

 _I found myself in a place that I imagined so much it feels more like a memory._

 _Xenon above my head. Nitrogen at my feet._

 _Wind's in the east, there's a mist coming in from the sea._

 _My children sleep in the west, or so I think, and my wife cries during their hours of rest._

 _We took a confusing route to get here, but actually it's a straight shot._

 _Move along through the streets of shells, follow the path of gas, and there you will find me._

 _They named it after a woman, who I believe was their first queen._

 _A bounty hunter is searching for my daughter and son. A demon follows close behind._

 _Remember this, and use Papa's magic. It hurts them most._

 _Julia had the key to the pen, if that was unknown._

 _It's probably too late for that now anyways._

 _Those in armbands have more information on – I can't write their name._

 _A teacher was the last person I spoke too – briefly, it should help some._

 _She has been looking for my children, too._

 _The detective and her brother should be able to know where I am now._

 _Or at least, we hope so. They're smart enough to know._

 _The world is wide enough for all of us, and we're on two ends of it._

 _We're waiting, and just remember one more thing:_

 _I love you._

 _One final note, that's super important:_

 _If you can't figure it out, that's fine._

 _Just crumble up the paper and move on with your life._

 _You have a long one lying ahead, so don't waste it searching._

 _You can only search so far before you give up. I know, I understand._

 _I've been searching all my life too._

 _But, don't be like me and throw away years and year looking for something you'll never find._

 _If you can't make progress, just stop altogether._

 _Believe me, it'll be okay._

 _It'll always be okay._

"What the hell does that even mean?" Marcus asked, by this point, tears were in his eyes. They didn't come from any emotion in particular, but if he had to pick it was probably from relief and from aggravation – he was so overwhelmed by what happened and all he got was a letter that was so convoluted it made him angry.

"It's a new code," Isabelle groaned. She had hoped if it was in code that it was at least the same as it was in his alchemy notes. His were hard as hell before, now she can only imagine how difficult this one would be.

However, despite what this note was telling her, she wasn't going to give up if she wasn't going to make progress on the Elric Case. She yawned, reading back through it again and picking up something that didn't need to be transcribed, but it made her heart sink all the way to the bottom of her chest. "He doesn't know about Mama."

The room went quiet, and the three exchanged looks. It was an uncomfortable silence, the two siblings locked eyes for what felt like forever, everything they said to each other they could hear in their minds.

"Izzy," the General spoke up finally as he strode to her, extending his hand. "Give me the paper."

She yanked it back, holding it close to her chest and eyeing him as if he was going to attack her. "No! What in your right mind would make you think that I would just hand this over to you all willy nilly?"

"You need to sleep. You won't sleep at all tonight if that paper is in your room, and we all know why," he informed her calmly. He kept his hand outreaching, expecting the paper to show up in his hands any second.

"I won't get much sleep anyway," Isabelle straightened her posture. "May's coming to Central at dawn."

There was a pause, and the General gave her a look to tell her to elaborate. She gave him a rough gist of what happened not that long ago, and he took a deep breath. "Why did you wait until now to tell me?"

"You would have gotten the military involved. They're going to screw it all up and I can do it. All I need is assistance from you and Marcus. Maybe even the Lieutenant, but I wouldn't risk it with her."

"You do realise the military would have served a greater help than what you think?" The General asked. He was completely blown away by how she had a lead tucked behind her hair the whole time, and she only kept it to herself.

Isabelle gave him a look that basically said: _do you not fucking remember how everyone was against me at the trial?_

"I might as well get some research in before I get my aunt back," Isabelle side stepped the two men in the room, then walked upstairs before anyone else could say another word.

* * *

"Steady now."

"Where am I going now?"

"Somewhere that could probably help you."

"Again with the probably."

"Do you want to live or not?"

"Do you want the honest answer or the answer you want to hear?"

"Well, you have no choice. We need soldiers, and your fiancé still hasn't budged. He's a tough egg to crack."

"That's my Alphonse."

"Well, it'll get your brother-in-law killed if he keeps it up. Just remember that."

"You wouldn't kill him."

"I wouldn't. He would."

"He wouldn't."

"You clearly have no idea who you're dealing with here. You must be in denial or you must be stupid, because we thought for sure by now that you would know, or at least have an idea."

"I know who I'm dealing with."

"Humour me, then."

"I'm dealing with a bunch of _cowards_."

 _Smack!_

"You've still got nerve to you."

"I've seen scarier things than you. You mean nothing in comparison to the things I've dealt with and _defeated._ "

"Hate to tell you, honey, but what we have in mind is going to make the Promised Day look like a cakewalk."

"Try me."

"Just get in."

* * *

 _Holy fuck, this is hard._

 _It's like the inverse of travelogue, but at the same time it's got its own spin on it. What the hell does that even mean?_

 _Okay clearly he's in the east, but where? There's so much bullshit in the east, including the desert, that it could be forever until I find him. This doesn't exclude them being underground, either._

 _Fuck!_

 _Okay, focus._

 _Let's try and narrow this down by figuring out what the hell he meant by Xenon and Nitrogen. I assume these are cities?_

 _No, that's too specific._

 _Countries!_

 _Okay, now which countries?_

 _Well, clearly Xenon means Xing if we're talking countries – Xing is the only country right now that starts with an X, so I assume that makes sense. Well, it should. It's in the east._

 _It's above him? So he's in the southeast._

 _He mentions the sea. Now, which sea is it? There's two, and based on that he's on a boarder._

 _Nitrogen…Nitrogen…_

 _There's no fucking country that starts with N._

 _Does that mean Xenon isn't Xing?_

 _Then what the hell is that supposed to represent? Maybe he was giving me a pass on this one. He's gotten a little sloppy, and I know these were meant to be decoded so I shouldn't think too deep into them._

 _What the hell is nitrogen? There's dozens of countries south of Xing in the east, and there's so many on the coast any of them could represent nitrogen._

 _He imagined this place a lot? Did he write it down?_

 _His notes!_

 _It's not in his alchemy notes at the library, that's that other thing._

 _Does that mean…?_

 _Fuck._

 _I have to go back to Resembool._

"Isabelle."

The girl turned her head from the papers to her brother peering inside.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"It's almost dawn."

* * *

They had an hour.

This hour use for prep time – Isabelle had a plan and she explained it in great detail. It would be successful, as long as the three worked together. The General failed to tell his goddaughter that he also got the military involved in this, but that would come later.

All they needed was a vehicle, which they were in, and the Elrics having a damn good ability to be able to keep pace with those that are passing through.

They thought they were discreet, but Isabelle knew exactly when they were coming, where they were coming from, and who was in what car. She had her eyes focused on the van – May was in there.

It was a swift plan, and if it worked out, it would only result in a maximum of two casualties. She just had to keep a steady eye and stealthy aim. She could do it, but she was still nervous. She had only killed one other person since Danielle, and she didn't want to do it again. The screams all started to sound the same to her; the floor started to sway under her feet.

"Isabelle, you ready?"

Marcus watched his sister nod while methodically fiddling with the trigger of her gun. She was thinking about it too much again. "Hey," he said. "Look at me."

She looked up at him obediently, and all he did was hug her tightly. _It's going to be okay._

Two knocks echoed in the back of the van where the two children resided, waiting. That was their call. Taking a deep breath, Marcus let go of the girl, then climbed up two rungs of the ladder and opened the hatch at the top of the van. "Let's go."

Isabelle watched as he climbed up onto the top of the van, and she followed suit. The wind smacked her the moment her eyes cleared the opening, her hair whipping in twelve different directions as she steadied herself on top of the vehicle. She stomped twice, and then the vehicle started to align in-between two others on either sides of the lanes.

She scanned the cars around her, then she saw it. The Insignia wasn't on either side of the vehicles like they used to be, but on top, so that they can hide in plain sight. Luckily for her, it made them easier to spot.

"Marcus," she instructed, pointing at their direction, and he nodded.

"I see them."

That's when the two children leapt in opposite directions onto the cars on either side. Marcus had to keep himself tucked away for the right moment, while Isabelle had to be in the centre of the action.

She cocked her pistol and started to run.

Her legs quickly carried her across vehicle to vehicle while she would run leap on them like how she would in the trees behind the Mustang Estate. There were three cars and a van. Two cars in front of the van, and another car behind. The van, clearly, had May inside. The General kept up his speed where he was on the roads, keeping a careful eye on the two children as he continued to drive.

Isabelle leapt onto the car behind the van, lost her footing and fell on top of it. She heard yelling from in the car and a man poked his head out on the passenger side. Instinctively, she panicked, then stomped on his face and knocked him out instantly. The car started to swerve around beneath her, trying to get her to lose her balance and to fall, but she quickly lunged across the platform and grabbed onto the door handles on the back of the van. She grasped it tightly and held onto the door for dear life as it swung open.

The car started to slide into the lane next to her where the driver yanked out his pistol and started to fire at her. A bullet grazed her shoulder. She screamed.

She hoisted herself up onto the top of the vehicle and stumbled to the front and peeked in on the passenger's side. There was no passenger, just a driver. Good. That'll make this easier. She crawled to the driver's side then opened his door, swinging herself in and kicking the driver onto the passenger's side. She slid in his spot and started to control the vehicle herself.

By this point, she heard gunfire that didn't come from the General nor her brother. It came from equal parts the people in front of her and from undercover military vehicles that were hidden in plain sight. _You jackass! I told you not to get them involved!_

He flipped out a small switchblade and lunged at her, swinging aimlessly and trying to push her out of the still open door. She stumbled and almost fell out, but she quickly grabbed onto the seatbelt to keep herself afloat. The strap started to sink her towards the rapidly moving ground beneath her. The driver sliced at her and slit her wrist that clung so desperately to the seatbelt. She screamed again as he started to push her deeper to the road.

A bullet from one of the military vehicles pierced his forearm, and he cried out, retreating back just enough to give the girl the upper hand.

 _Maybe it's not so bad they were involved._

She used the seatbelt to launch herself back up and grab him by the collar. She yanked him up and twisted their positions. Before he could react, Isabelle pressed his head against the moving road. He screamed, the agony of what was happening was unbearable, but it wasn't long before it killed him, leaving a trail of blood along the road and sprayed all over the girl and the van. She pushed his corpse out onto the road and sat back in the driver's seat, in worse condition than before.

She had lost a lot of blood from her injuries, and it felt like adrenaline was the only thing keeping her awake – perhaps the only thing keeping her alive. Her vision kept pulsing from black and white and she could hardly keep her eyes on the road.

Shakily, she took a finger and used the blood from her slit wrist to make an alkahestry circle. _What the hell was it that May used?_

She drew it to the best of her memory – something to keep her from losing more blood – and pressed her fingers against it, activating the circle. The wound closed, but that didn't mean it was healed. It just gave her more time. Bullets were flying everywhere.

 _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!_

She yanked the wheel to the side, driving the van down a hill off the road and somewhere _away_ from all that bullshit. She knew Marcus saw it, and she knew she was deviating from the original plan of having Marcus take May out of the vehicle to the General, but it was safer to take this new on the spot idea.

Black.

White.

She could hear screaming from the back of the van. Female. _May._

Black.

Trees.

She saw trees, and her vision blurred again and the van smashed into one of the trees. The airbag burst from her seat, and she opened the door, flopping out onto the wooded ground. She flipped herself over onto her back and looked up at the sky, panting heavily from what just happened. Her chest felt tight, her breathing heavy. She fumbled in her pocket and took a puff from her inhaler.

She turned her head towards where the back of the van was, and found herself being yanked up by another soldier that was in the back with her aunt. He may have punched her. It was a blur. She flailed around blindly, and when she went to inhale she found that she was breathing in water.

Her arms searched for her gun, but found that it was just out of her reach. She started to etch a transmutation circle into the sand, but his hand plummeted in and wiped it away, the other tight on the back of her head to keep her under. _My gun!_

Her fingers brushed against it, but her head started to feel light. It was as if she was falling asleep. Suddenly, a new hand reached down into the water and yanked out her gun, shooting at the man to get him to let go of her. He did, and Isabelle took the opportunity to yank her head up and gasp for air.

She turned her head, and saw that it was Marcus that fired the weapon. His eyes were wide and breathing was heavy, terrified that he murdered someone. The man behind her groaned as he started to sit back up, and he let out a soft breath of relief.

 _No, that's my job._

Isabelle didn't let him have a chance to think. She reached over behind the man and plunged his head into the water, holding him by the throat. She clenched, hoping the combination of cutting off his airways and holding him underwater in a pond would finally do it.

The Dead Aim Alchemist waited until his struggles ceased and he finally went limp, and even then she held him under longer until she felt his body actually relax. He was faking. After he was unconscious, she waited, then let go of him. However, this didn't mean she was letting him go.

He floated on the water for a moment, but Isabelle made sure he wasn't going to get back up. She flipped him onto his stomach, so the water was all that he could breathe, that is, until he didn't breathe anymore.

She looked up at Marcus – blue meeting gold – and tried to catch her breath. "Thank you," she weakly mustered out in-between her faint gasping. He just nodded, keeping a careful eye on her.

She looked down at herself, while her head may have looked fine from being in the water, her upper body and torso was soaked with blood from the body torn to bits by the road not even ten minutes earlier.

"Marcus," she croaked, then turned her forearm out to show her brother the sealed slit in her wrist. "I don't have a lot of time."

"Shit," he mumbled, rushing to his sister to look at her wrist. "You need medical attention now."

"Wait," she told him. Despite his protests, she stood up, then limped to the back of the van. The door was still open from before. Everything seemed to slow as she rounded the corner of the open door, peeking in to find a woman wrapped in a blanket, her stringy black hair hanging in front of her face and she looked too sickly to properly function. She refused to turn her head, almost as if she was expecting her captor to be the one returning. Her knees almost buckled at the sight. "May?" she managed to croak out.

Her eyes widened, and her head snapped to the girl's direction, where the look in her eyes suddenly changed from excitement to a flooding rush of all kinds of emotions. She had just endured so much, all while worrying for her family – and the first person from her family she sees again since her capture was her niece soaked with blood. Given what the other soldiers would say around her about what Isabelle had done in the papers, she had a feeling most of that blood was in fact not her own.

"Izzy," she breathed out, then she stumbled to her feet towards the girl, leaping into her arms as the blanket fell from her body. Isabelle made careful sure not to hold her too tightly; she knew that something was physically wrong with her aunt. Her breathing trembled, and she felt her shoulder start to become warm where May rested her head. She lifted her head to face her niece, but turned it to see her nephew instead.

"Here," he said as he held out the pistol, not keeping his eyes off his aunt, "take it back." The look in his eyes built palaces out of paragraphs.

"Oh, Marcus," the woman smiled with a faint hitch in her throat, then embraced him as well. Isabelle took the gun from him, eyeing it carefully. There were only two bullets left in the chamber.

"It's so good to have you back," Marcus replied, reaching forward and taking his sister by the arm and pulling her into one hug. Before she hugged back, she caught a glimpse in his eye that was meant only for her to see. _We finally have a victory._

 _Victory…_

They held each other for God knows how long at this point – and it reminded them of the last time they were in each other's' arms like this. It was one of the best feelings in the world.

However, it didn't last long.

"Put your hands in the air."

Isabelle was the first to let go. Marcus pushed his aunt behind him carefully and protectively, looking forward as his sister turned around to meet face to face with a woman aiming a rifle at the three of them, not even a full metre away in distance.

"What do you want?" Isabelle asked in a cold voice, and the woman responded simply by pointing to the princess.

"Her," she replied. "She'll be very valuable to sell. Now hand her over before I kill you and whoever is behind you."

The Dead Aim Alchemist took a deep breath, placing on hand on her hip, her pistol still in that hand, and the other hand rubbing her forehead as she turned to face them. Marcus could see what was happening next. However, her eyes locked with May's, basically telling her "I'm sorry you have to see this."

 _You just threatened me and my family, you piece of shit._

The poor woman didn't even have time to react, for by the time the child whipped around and placed a bullet in exactly the right spot in her skull. She hurt her shoulder while yanking her arm to fire, but it ultimately saved their lives.

If anything, it was luck that she managed to fire the pistol, especially in the way her mind was fucking up her vision and entire sense of being from dying. May probably screamed – or was it Marcus? – it was probably May. Isabelle couldn't remember.

However, she did remember turning towards the hill she came down to find the General rushing up to the scene, and she remembered falling. She remembered faint yelling after she hit the ground, then nothing.

Nothing at all.

* * *

You know this was actually played out a lot better in my head. xD

Sorry that it wasn't as good as I originally hoped it would be! It was so badass in my head and I'm actually very disappointed that it didn't come out the proper way. Oh well. What can you do at this point, right?

Anyways.

Thank you so much for reading this! I hope you enjoyed!

-Elena


	19. UPDATE

Hey guys! Just a quick update.

I haven't been getting much feedback on my fics, and I initially thought about discontinuing them until I realized that was pretty much a dead website at this point because everybody has moved to Archive of Our Own, including myself. However, that doesn't mean that these fics are done. I'm writing this to tell you guys that I'm editing and transferring these fics to Ao3! I'm thebaehood on there, too, and I'll hopefully have better feedback on my work there.

Thank you so much for allowing the opportunity to write here and I hope that these opportunities increase in Ao3!

-Elena


End file.
